


The Hole

by Armastatud



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Past Domestic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 21,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armastatud/pseuds/Armastatud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if they stayed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet the fallen human

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, folks! Just as a heads-up, my chapters get gradually longer as the story progresses, so be aware of that. I upate as I can, life permitting :P
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the story!

_I was a little too young to remember how I got to Mt. Ebott initially. When you’re younger than four years old, you get more excited about things like seeing a bunny in the grass or chasing after a grasshopper or getting a piggy-back ride from your dad (at least, I think it was my dad that gave me those…?) than following instructions and staying with the group._

_What I do remember is the flowers. I was certain they were calling my name, so I followed them up the mountain. They called me, I moved to that patch of flowers, they called me from another patch, and on I went. It was a game; I loved it! I loved it so much, in fact, that I forgot how to get back down the mountain._

_When I realized I didn’t know how to go back to—to whoever I’d left behind—I was very afraid. I remember asking the flowers to guide me back down the slopes, but they went silent and said nothing. I felt more alone than I could possibly imagine, and it was around lunchtime and I was very thirsty. I was also very hot since the sun had come out—I tried to tug off my oversized sweater, but I couldn’t get my head out of the turtleneck. Now I was lost, thirsty, and too hot, so I sat down and cried. It was too hot where I had sat down, though, so I looked around for a cool place to stay, and I found one: a lovely looking bush with a nice cavity I could fit into to avoid the sunlight._

_I ran to it so fast I didn’t see the Hole until I tripped on a root and fell into it. Heh. It’s almost funny: I’m still afraid of heights because of that day._

 

* * *

       

 _Another one?_ Toriel looked at the prone figure of the child spread-eagled among the golden flowers. Their brown hair was tangled and full of leaves and dirt and their right leg was sticking out from under them at an angle that defied all normal physiology—definitely broken. One of their arms, too, from the looks of things. But the child had fallen to their death, so what did it matter? The best she could do would be to bury them quickly and silently mourn.

_But this one was so young._

Toriel gently scooped up the child, ignoring her tears and the child’s pooled blood and trying to think of a suitable place to bury them, but was surprised by a tiny gasp of pain from the child. _They’re alive!_ Her footsteps quickened to a run. A small child like this would not survive wounds like these very long. She could feel their little chest moving slightly, very slightly.

_Hold on, little one! Just a little further!_

Working as quickly as she could, she did first aid for the little child. They had lost a lot of blood and were unconscious, but she set the bones and tended to the child as best as she could. Their forehead was hot, so she wetted a small towel and placed it on their head. Their striped sweater was badly torn and covered in blood; Toriel went to throw it away and noticed a small piece of paper stuck to the sweater. The word “Frisk” was discernible beneath a layer of blood.

”What is your name, little one?” She looked at the piece of paper from the sweater. “Is your name Frisk?” There was no response, so she stroked the child’s hair, wishing she could calm their wounds with her voice. “Everything is going to be alright. Don’t give up now!”

A few days went by before the child began to improve. Their forehead began to cool slowly, oh so slowly, but Toriel stayed by their side to care for their wounds, talk to them, and keep them company.

”My little child, would you like to know a snail fact?” There was no response from the child, but Toriel continued anyway. “Snails make houses in their shells and carry them with them. Isn’t that nice?” Still no response from the child. Toriel sighed; she’d try again when the child woke. She settled for turning on the music box by the child’s bed and humming along with the simple tune until she fell asleep holding the child’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where my idea for this story came from, but I found it intriguing and hope you all do, too! Also, this doesn't fit any Undertale AU's that I've seen. Hope you enjoy!


	2. In which the child wakes up from their fall and Toriel bakes them pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I briefly mention a suicide attempt in this chapter, but not in any detail. Just so there's no surprises.

_Growing up with Toriel, I eventually found out I wasn’t the first human to fall down, though I was definitely the smallest._

_The first had been a teenager, about seventeen. He’d climbed the mountain as the latest in a string of suicide attempts, hoping the isolation would keep others from being able to stop him. He had found the Hole and jumped, correctly assuming nobody on the surface could find him ever again. He was wrong, though, to think nobody at all would find him._

 

* * *

 

Toriel sat by the child’s bed, humming a lullaby and carefully patching a hole in their baggy shorts. The scent of butterscotch-cinnamon pie drifted through the house—Toriel, hoping the child would wake within a day or two, had decided to bake them a pie but hadn’t been able to decide which flavor children from the surface enjoyed better, so she had combined them and hoped for the best. From the aroma wafting through the house, she guessed her experiment was a success, and she sniffed appreciatively.

Her cooking alarm rang in the distance, so she set her darning down and went to remove the pie from the oven. It looked perfectly done: Golden crusts, soft fluffy interior. Setting the pie on her stove to cool, she checked her fridge—good, she would have milk to go with the child’s pie.

A scream of pain interrupted her reverie. Bolting back to the child’s room, she found the tiny human, having apparently tried to get out of bed and sneak away, on the floor, writhing in pain and looking terrified of everything around them. Toriel’s appearance only made things worse: the child, seeing her horns and large frame, tried to scoot away from her on the ground but only succeeded in sending fresh stabs of pain through their broken limbs. New screams rent the air.

“Oh, no, child! I—I’m taking care of you, I’m—“

The child was not convinced and sobbed harder. They didn’t seem to understand Toriel’s words of comfort at all. 

“Please believe me, I…”

Toriel was crushed. Her welcome to the child had gone all wrong. There they were, on the ground, wounds bandaged and fever receding, and they were afraid of her. _Of her._ Toriel could feel tears of her own coming, of disappointment and grief.

“Please, child, let me help you!” she cried as the child tried again to move away and screeched in pain. “Your leg is broken, and so is your arm! Stop trying to move!”

The child had begun to hyperventilate. From pain? From fear? It was impossible to tell. Toriel scooped them up as gently as possible and replaced them in their bed.

“Please, little one,” she croaked through her grief, “just stay still. You’ll hurt more if you move. Breathe…”

She went to get the human a glass of water but shattered it on the ground when another scream rent the air. She raced back into the room to find the human again on the ground, passed out from pain. She again gently replaced the child in their bed and rearranged their broken limbs as best as she could to minimize pain when they woke. The child’s fever was back.

Toriel resumed her vigil of cooling the child’s brow, now dreading the moment they would wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I always wondered if a really young Frisk was ripped from the world they knew, would they be able to accept it in the same way an older Frisk would? Would they understand Toriel's attempts to help, or would they think she was a creature from a nightmare?


	3. In which Toriel doesn't give up hope that she can befriend the child

_The second human that fell did not mean to come here. She was an avid hiker and had gone hiking with a friend on Mt. Ebott. As the story goes, the two had stopped to eat some food when the woman heard a strange sound and started talking about being able to hear “calls for help.” Her friend couldn’t hear them and kept eating, but the woman went to see if someone was on the mountain that needed help._

_After a half hour of waiting for the woman to come back, her friend went looking for her. All she found was a note left next to a large hole in the ground that said, “I’m climbing down to help someone—I’d come back for you, but it would be too late for me to help them by then. I should be back in an hour.”_

_She was not back in an hour, or two hours, or six. When her friend went to get help and brought search-and-rescue up the mountain, she couldn’t even find the Hole the woman fell down._

_Well, I can tell you this—when that woman climbed down the Hole, she certainly did not encounter an injured hiker._

 

* * *

 

“They hate me.” 

There was no small amount of despair in Toriel’s voice. It was the child’s tenth day at her house, and though they had stopped trying to walk on their broken limbs, they still were obviously frightened of her. They refused to eat in front of her and would start screaming if she came too close, even if she was just adjusting their bandages.

“They won’t touch their pie.”

Toriel cupped her face with her hands, feeling tears slide down her fingers. She vaguely wondered if the child could hear her noises of distress through the closed door.

“I scare them. My… my face scares them.”

Toriel looked at the knitting project she had begun: a striped sweater to replace the one that had been torn when the child fell. _Will they even want this, after all?_

Toriel sighed heavily, wiped her eyes, and picked up a tray of food.

 _This can’t go on like this_ , thought Toriel. _Something has to change or this child will be unhappy and afraid for the rest of their life. And_ , she thought, _I’ll be miserable, seeing them unable to move forward and remaining afraid of me._

Toriel walked in to the child’s room. They eyed her warily as she placed the tray near them. She smiled sadly in their direction, started moving toward the door in silence, then stopped and turned to face the child.

_I will not let this persist._

“Toriel,” she said, slowly and clearly. Then she pointed to herself. “Toriel,” she repeated, and she forced a genuine smile onto her face.

Whether or not the child understood the introduction, Toriel couldn’t tell, but she resolved to keep trying. _I always wanted to teach in the old days, didn’t I?_ Her thoughts sounded sardonic, even to herself. She heaved another low sigh as she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her and listening to hear if the child was eating—looked like they were.

The next day, Toriel did the same sort of name introduction as she had done before, but adding in a few words to describe the child’s room and food. The child was still wary and still freaked out when she touched them to check on their broken leg and arm, but Toriel could swear the child was a little less jumpy than the previous day. _Don’t get your hopes up_ , she reminded herself grimly.

Every day, Toriel introduced herself and various items around the room to the child, and each day, the child grew a little less cautious around her. They still didn’t smile or try to speak, but it was clear after a few weeks that they slowly were getting used to having Toriel around.

Toriel tried an experiment, one day. After going through her routine of self-introduction and object-naming, Toriel asked a question. Pointing to the child, she asked, “Frisk?”

The child’s face registered surprise, but recognition flickered across their face and they nodded.

“Goodnight, then, Frisk.”


	4. Learning to walk again with some help from Goat-Mom

_The third fallen human was a particularly nasty guy: We never found out what he had done, but we know it was pretty bad and that he tried escaping arrest by climbing down the Hole. He managed it well enough, somehow making it down without hurting himself beyond a few cuts and bruises. His plan had been to hide and wait for the cops to give up on finding him before climbing back out of the Hole and down the mountain, and he’d escape elsewhere._

_Technically, the man’s plan to evade the police succeeded, but he wasn’t prepared for the violent reception he received upon being discovered below the surface._

 

* * *

 

 

It had been almost two months since Frisk had woken up in the Underground. Bit by bit, Toriel could see she was gaining the child’s trust.

Today, Toriel had shown up to their room with a small pair of crutches and an arm-sling for them, tailored perfectly for their size. When Toriel demonstrated how to use them, Frisk realized that Toriel was helping them to walk again, and their excitement was such that they nearly fell out of the bed entirely in their rush to grab the crutches and give them a go. Toriel laughed and helped the child hold the crutches in the right places. They wobbled in place, trying to maintain balance without putting weight down on their healing leg.

“There, there, that’s perfect!” encouraged Toriel as Frisk tried a few halting steps. “You are using these crutches like you were born with—“ She abruptly cut off to catch Frisk (with lightning-fast reflexes), who had lost their balance and was headed straight toward a face-plant on the ground. _I spoke too soon about their skill with crutches…_

Saved from their fall, the child looked a bit shocked that they were unhurt (and still standing).

“Frisk,” said Toriel, “are you OK?” Frisk nodded. “OK, then,” she continued, “let’s try that again, and I’ll help you.”

Toriel helped Frisk practice walking in crutches for a while (it was hard to get Frisk to focus on one thing at a time, and then they got cranky because they needed food and a nap…Toriel remembered it had been a long time since she’d raised a child of this age).

The day culminated in Frisk taking a wobbly few steps toward Toriel, who was so thrilled with Frisk’s progress that she had to restrain herself from wrapping the child in the biggest hug she could muster. She settled for encouraging words, instead.

“I am so proud of you, child!” And then, something happened that Toriel would remember for the rest of her life:

_They smiled at her._

For the first time, Toriel allowed herself a bit of hope that her relationship with Frisk could go beyond mere coexistence and become more like... family, perhaps? Or was that asking too much of a child that had gone through so much?

Three months after Frisk fell, Toriel heard them humming. It was the tune from the little music box beside their bed, which Toriel turned on each night when she tucked them in. She couldn’t help but smile—it was the first time the child had used their voice for something other than screaming in fear since their arrival.


	5. In which they act like family for the first time

_The fourth human to fall was a woman in her early twenties, about to end her junior year of college. She was working on a huge paper and had, quite frankly, put it off too long to get it done in time. This was a big deal for her—her family expected her to maintain a particularly high academic standard, and failing a class for missing an assignment would be a major source of contention between her and her parents. With all that pressure stacking up on her, she had plagiarized part of her paper, just to make sure it was finished in time. That decision, however, rankled at her and wouldn’t let her have peace._

_Hoping to clear up her thoughts and get some fresh perspective about her future, she went on a walk up the mountain one day with her project notes. To her credit, it appears she chose to tell her professors and family the truth, despite the consequences._

_Whatever consequences she would have faced on the Surface paled in comparison to what she encountered after she fell._

 

* * *

 

 

“My, my, you’re acting very _frisky_ today, little one!” Toriel chuckled at her pun.

Frisk had, once again, decided to wedge themselves into Toriel’s closet, crutches and all, to access her stash of butterscotch candies. Upon being discovered (small child + crutches + candy wrapped in crinkly paper + loud candy noises = child isn’t hard to find), Frisk had grabbed the bag of candies and thumped down the hall as quickly as they could, almost making it to their own room before Toriel snatched them off the ground. Removing the candies from the child’s possession (amid their cries of dismay), she carried them to the living room and settled down on the couch with them. Frisk instantly tried to squirm out, but Toriel held them down, tickling them mercilessly as they tried to escape.

“What? Steal my candies and you think you don’t get tickled? Silly child!”

Soon, Frisk was breathless from laughing, and they and Toriel sat snuggled in happy companionship for a few minutes. Suddenly, Toriel’s head snapped up.

“Frisk!” she cried, loudly enough that the child covered their ears. “Whoops.” She began again in a softer tone, “child, what would you think of having a party to celebrate you living here?”

Frisk looked at her in confusion, eyes darting to the bathroom suspiciously. Toriel noticed and understood the problem: _The child thinks ‘party’ is a new word for ‘bath.’_ She broke out laughing.

“Child,” she wheezed, “you should see your face at this moment! You look so concerned!” Frisk’s caution turned into pouting as they realized they were being laughed at.

“A party, little one, is a time to have fun, play games, and eat delicious food. Do you know what pie is?” They shook their head. “It is a sweet food filled with your favorite flavors: butterscotch and cinnamon!” Frisk’s face lit up, and they gave Toriel a big hug (they also commenced asking every five minutes if it was time for the party to start).


	6. A party for the child

_The fifth one to fall was an attorney. He was trying to save a client from a death sentence, but the DNA evidence that would have cleared his client came too late, and the client was executed. The attorney went up the mountain in the days after that for solitude to release his pent-up anger and frustration at a system that withheld mercy from an innocent man. He screamed his frustration at the sky, demanding to know why truth was allowed to fail and sentence an innocent man to death._

_The sad irony is that, just like his deceased client, the attorney would also be denied mercy when he fell down the Hole._

 

* * *

 

The scent of butterscotch-cinnamon pie wafted through Toriel’s house once more. This party to celebrate one year with Frisk would be a second try at the initial meeting that went so wrong the day they woke up: They would try her pie and learn snail facts and see the gift she had worked so hard on these past twelve months.

“Today is going to be a good day!” sang Toriel to herself. “It will be a new beginning in all sorts of ways!”

It was still early in the day, and Frisk was still asleep. Walking very quietly in spite of her bulky frame, Toriel carried two slices of the freshly-baked pie and a carefully-wrapped gift to the front yard. Then, she gently woke the child.

“My child,” began Toriel, “Today is the day of the party!” Toriel turned away from them to gather some clothing out of their drawer for them to put on, but when she looked back, Frisk had run down the hall in only their pajamas, laughing up a storm.

“No clothes! No clothes! Gotta catch meeeeeeeeeeee!” The child’s voice rang down the hall, causing Toriel to burst out laughing as she commenced a wild chase around the house after them.

“You little hooligan, put on some pants!” _For such a small child, they can certainly move fast!_ “You can’t go to a party without pants!”

“Yes I can!” came their voice down the hall, fainter than before. _Where did they go?_

First Frisk hid behind the kitchen table, then under Toriel’s bed, then under their _own_ bed, then in Toriel’s closet, then behind a vase, and they were trying to fit into the fridge when Toriel managed to pick them up and take them back to their room. “You, my child, need to put on clothes!” she wheezed. “Goodness, I haven’t had to run like that for a long time!” Frisk began giggling, and Toriel joined in, the house ringing with their laughter.

“Now come on, silly,” said Toriel

Amid Frisk’s squeals of excitement, Toriel brought them to the leafy area outside her front door, to a cute little picnic spot she had prepared among the deepest leaves. Toriel then brought out the pie, which the child consumed with gusto (though a good amount of the pie just ended up on their face rather than in their mouth).

“I have a present for you!” Toriel pulled a new hand-knitted sweater out of the package and handed it to the child. “You wore one like this when you fell, but it got all ripped up, so I made you a new one. Do you like it?”

Their eyes widened with excitement as they realized the sweater was made of their favorite colors, and they gave Toriel the biggest hug they could manage with their small frame.

“Blue! Purple!” Frisk’s voice was excited. “I love you!”

The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon jumping in leaf piles, eating food, telling made-up stories, and singing silly songs. It was a good day.


	7. Hide and seek and Toriel begins to worry

_The last one to fall before me was a guy in his early twenties, probably still in college. He always had a reputation for being a bit of a daredevil, and he went into the Hole as part of a bet to win a date with a girl he liked._

_He won the bet but never got to enjoy the date._

 

* * *

 

Toriel listened for the telltale sign of giggling. Never mind that Frisk was probably at least six years old now—hide-and-seek was a necessary part of the day. It had to be, really, for such an energetic, bouncing-off-the-walls kind of child. Today, the game was happening while food was baking in the oven: Toriel was making bread, and it smelled heavenly.

Creeping around the corner softly, Toriel peeked into the living room and listened carefully. There! A faint snort emerged from the space behind the bookcase. Toriel yawned loudly and leaned her whole weight against the bookcase as if tired, causing the bookcase to slightly squish the human. Amid their squeaks of dismay, Toriel continued yawning and muttering about her extreme and sudden tiredness.

“My, my,” she sighed sleepily, “I could just fall asleep against this bookcase! Mmm, it’s so comfy…”

Outraged squeaks emerged from behind the bookcase. “HEY! You can’t do that! I won’t be able to breathe if you do that!"

In overstated surprise, Toriel released her weight from the bookcase. “You were _there?_ My, child, you must be more careful. I cannot help squishing you if you decide to fall asleep in my well-established napping spots.”

“You never nap there!” cried Frisk indignantly as they emerged from hiding. “You always nap in your chair, and I sit with you!”

“So you do,” smiled Toriel, scooping up the child, who immediately became very squirmy. Then, she took off running down the hall, occasionally tossing Frisk into the air and catching them again. Frisk screamed in surprise and delight, but they screamed especially loudly when Toriel declined to catch them and, instead, tossed them through the open door onto her massive bed. Then, with a great leap, Toriel bounded through the door and launched herself onto the bed, catapulting the child straight up. As they fell, she caught them, and they collapsed into a heap of giggles.

 _I’ve had nearly three years with this little one_ , thought Toriel as she tickled the child with a grin.When the child dozed off in her lap, she frowned, deep in thought.  _However, I don’t think this peace can last._

It’s true the child didn’t always listen to her as they should, and they’d occasionally get into trouble (Toriel couldn’t count the number of times she’d warned Frisk against going on “exploring” adventures in the Ruins, but time and time again she’d find they’d fallen in hidden holes in the floor in old buildings— _they like running through leaves too much_ , she mused), but they were a good child at heart.  She looked at the little form nestled in her lap, chest rising and falling rhythmically, hair tangled. Toriel bent down and kissed them on their forehead.

Toriel’s motherly instincts were both strong and fully focused on this child, and her worry for Frisk’s long-term safety caused her to nervously and absentmindedly tug on her ear. _How much longer can we go undisturbed, I wonder?_


	8. Sometimes, Frisk's questions hit too close to home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hints at some stuff from Toriel's past, and it's not happy stuff. I'll be explaining in more detail in future chapters (and adding appropriate tags), but I'm not tagging it yet since that is a bit of a spoiler. I just wanted to put out this little warning out of consideration for folks who could possibly get triggered... not sure if any of that makes sense.

_Years later, I wondered how I’d escaped detection. The other humans had been found so quickly—a few hours at most separated their falls, captures, and then screams. And yet, I lived with Toriel for several years, from the time I was three or four until I was about nine, without anyone knowing I was there! Toriel only told one person about me during that whole time, but she hadn’t even planned on doing that. She only did that because she knew she was running out of time to get me to safety._

 

* * *

 

“Mom, why is your arm bald here?” Frisk was sitting in Toriel’s lap in the chair by the fire, sleepily poking Toriel’s arms with a decorated snail shell on wheels that Toriel had given them.

“My arm? My, that’s a long story, child…” Toriel was conflicted.

 _They’re too young to know the whole truth. Knowing the reason for my wounds might remind them of the fear and distrust they had when they first fell. And yet…_ She sighed.

“There was an accident many years ago, and my skin got hurt in a few places. That’s why I don’t have hair there. But,” she winked, “it’s baldly noticeable.”

The child laughed, finally old enough to start picking up on the intricacies of punning and wordplay. Toriel smiled, glad that her simplistic explanation was enough to satisfy the child’s curiosity, at least for now.

Still, she was uneasy. Frisk had found her scars, her very well-hidden scars, as a child of merely six or seven years old. _If they ask again and aren’t satisfied with a silly answer, I don’t know what I’ll say…_ Her thoughts petered out into silence.

_Damn it! Why must this shadow still linger over my life?_

That shadow continued to linger. Half a year or so later, Toriel found unhappy memories circulating through her mind one night as she sat in her armchair knitting another sweater for Frisk, who was rapidly growing out of the first few sweaters Toriel had made for them.

Frisk had burned themselves on the stove a few weeks before, even though Toriel told them to let her cook using just her fire magic. Their curiosity had led them to try anyway, though, and they now sported two small burn marks on the back of their left hand. However, the presence of these marks had opened the door for more questions about the marks on Toriel’s arms.

“Mom, look at my hand!” cried the child, a week or so after the burns on their hand had healed a bit. “Now I match you!”

So they knew her scars looked like burn marks, then.

Today, they had asked why she had burn marks. Toriel had tried to evade the question as she had in the past, but the child kept on asking questions.

“I had an accident many years ago, and I got burned. You are very observant, my child.”

“Why were you burned, Mom?”

“An accident, child.”

“Why?”

Toriel had paused. She was tempted to tell the child a little more about her past. _It isn’t yet the right time_ , she thought. She shook her head slowly and turned to look at the child.

“Frisk, dear one, now is not the time.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s not a good time.”

“Yes, it is!”

Toriel stiffened. She was not ready to talk about her past yet, and Frisk was still too young to be able to handle hearing it. “Frisk, don’t talk back to me.”

“I’m not talking back!”

“Frisk, you need to stop.”

“But I wanna KNOW!”

Toriel’s face formed into a firm frown. “Frisk,” she said, her voice still calm but clearly taking no nonsense, “go to your room.”

Frisk knew they had gone too far, but they still pretended to have won the exchange by yelling, “I’M NOT TALKING BACK!” at the top of their lungs from the doorway to their room, right before they went inside and slammed the door.

Toriel sighed. The child was able to get so fixated on things they wanted, but they needed to learn to respect and trust her judgment on these matters. She was their mother, after all. She knew they would come out to apologize before too long (they were too kind at heart to truly end conversations on harsh words), and that knowledge helped her try and focus on the knitting she had in her hands. She looked down and noticed a funny loop—drat; she’d dropped a stitch.

As she worked to re-insert the stitch she had dropped, Toriel wondered when she would need to talk with Frisk about her past. The child was close to eight years old, now, and their curious energy seemed only to increase as time went on. Toriel wished for the umpteenth she could introduce the child to other monsters to give them some playmates their own age, but since the door to the Ruins was locked from the outside, Toriel was unable to provide friends for her child. A low rumble of frustration shuddered through her. No wonder the child was bored more and more often and desperate to learn new things—Toriel could only play so much, only teach so much.

And this brought her thoughts back to the door to the Ruins, to the one who had locked her in. If only she could let the child out, let them find friends… Well, it wasn’t as simple as that, thanks to _him_. The Underground wasn’t safe for Frisk outside the Ruins, but the Ruins were rapidly becoming too small for the child.

Why did she have to choose between her child’s safety and their happiness? It wasn’t fair! Toriel’s body rumbled in frustration and bitterness again.

“…mom?”

Toriel looked up; she had unconsciously been staring at the knitting in her lap. The child had left their room and stood in front of her, eyes red from crying.

“Yes, child?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mom!” The child started crying again, and Toriel swiftly put down her knitting and wrapped the child in a hug.

“Hush, little one,” she cooed. “I forgive you, and I love you more than you know.”


	9. Knock, knock.

_I couldn’t remember anyone from before I fell in the Hole, and I spent most of my childhood with only Toriel, but with such a wonderful caregiver to protect me, the isolation wasn't bad. Toriel was my mother, my teacher, my best friend. I sometimes wonder who my human mother was (or is, perhaps), but at this point I couldn’t imagine anyone, human or monster, who I’d rather have spent my childhood with._

_I only wish my time with Toriel had lasted longer than it did._

 

* * *

 

“Knock, knock.”

Toriel started in surprise—the silence of her routine of going to the door of the Ruins early each morning to listen for footsteps had been interrupted. Someone was knocking on the door, and she hadn’t even heard them approach!

 _Nobody comes here,_ she thought, a faint rise of panic in her mind. At a loss for what to do, she squeaked out a “Who is there?”

A grunt from the other side indicated her response had been as unexpected as the initial question. The voice, clearly male, coughed and replied, “Dishes.”

“Dishes who?”

“Dishes a very bad joke.”

Despite the strangeness of the situation, Toriel found herself laughing. The voice laughed too, a nice bass.

“Knock, knock,” came the voice through the door again.

“Who is there?”

“Dwayne,” said the voice.

“Dwayne who?”

“Dwayne the bathtub—it’s overflowing!”

Toriel started giggling.

“Knock, knock,” came the voice (sounded like he’d been chuckling, too).

“Who is there?” Toriel managed to get the words out even though her face hurt from laughing.

“Interrupting cow.”

Confused, Toriel began to say “Interrupting cow who?” but was interrupted by a loud “MOOOOOO!” from the voice on the other side. Toriel’s voice dissolved into undignified snorts, and she made a loud noise as she fell over onto the ground and lay there, laughing and snorting. (She didn’t even realize it, but she even made a few goat-like “baah” noises as she lay there).

OK, the voice on the other side was clearly laughing now, too.

“I… I can’t… breathe!” gasped Toriel, holding her sides and trying to control the giggles she’d acquired during the exchange.

“You and me both,” said the voice, and Toriel could swear she almost heard an audible wink… _How does that even work?_ Before she could ponder that further, the voice from outside the door was back at it with knock-knock jokes.

“Knock, knock.”

“Who is there?”

“Etch.”

“Etch who?”

“Bless you! Knock, knock.”

“Who is there?”

“Someone too short to ring the doorbell!”

Toriel was laughing so hard she was crying.

“Knock, knock.”

“Who is there?” Toriel gasped, wiping her eyes with her sleeves.

“Boo.”

“Boo who?”

“Hey, don’t cry—it’s just a knock-knock joke!” Toriel’s fresh wave of uncontrolled laughter prompted louder chuckles from the other side of the door.

 “Heh heh heh… knock, knock.”

“Who is there?” Toriel didn’t even bother trying to sit upright anymore and just lay on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes and face sore from smiling so much.

“Lettuce.”

“Lettuce who?”

“Lettuce in—it’s cold out here!” The voice waited for Toriel’s laughter to subside a bit. “Uh, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” said Toriel.

“Will you… will you remember me in a minute?”

“Yes,” affirmed Toriel.

“OK, how about a week? Will you remember me then?”

Again, Toriel said she would.

“How about a year? Even then?”

“Friend, I could hardly forget you even if I tried,” said Toriel warmly. “It has been years since anyone has shared jokes with me.” Toriel sighed happily. She’d forgotten how much she missed jokes, especially since the only person she interacted with was Frisk, who only just reached the age where they could appreciate puns and jokes (and they had not yet begun making jokes of their own, so it was usually Toriel who had to come up with new ones). Having someone else entertain _her_ was such a treat!

The voice yawned and gave a contented chuckle. “Knock, knock.”

“Who is there?”

“Hey, hold up! You said you’d remember me!”

…aaaaaaand there went Toriel’s composure again. The voice on the other side of the door laughed a hearty, good-humored laugh. (And, though Toriel couldn’t see the person on the other side of the door, she could have sworn she could sense their smile widening impossibly.)

When Toriel could breathe again, she decided to turn the tables on the jokester outside the door.

“Knock, knock!” she called, knocking on the door. She registered surprise in the voice as it replied, “Who’s there?”

“Old lady.”

“Old lady who?”

“Oh,” cried Toriel, “I did not know you could yodel!”

This time, it was the voice on the other side of the door that lost their composure entirely. They started laughing fairly quietly, but soon they were loudly guffawing (and, judging by a thud against the door, they had lost their balance and hit the door). Toriel and her new friend laughed and continued exchanging jokes. An hour or two later, Toriel realized Frisk would soon wake up and potentially get into mischief if she didn’t get back to her house and make breakfast.

“Thank you for sharing jokes and time with me,” Toriel smiled. “Sadly, I must go and complete some housework, but I hope we may speak again someday and exchange more jokes. It has been far too long since I have had the chance to test my humor on another person. Won’t you please come back sometime?”

“I think I can do that,” grinned the voice. “Catch ya later, then!”

“Goodbye,” smiled Toriel. “Until next time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a hard time writing for this particular skeleton, so I was happy with how this turned out. Hope it was fun :)


	10. Arithmetic and a dizzying obstacle course

_I didn’t realize until many years later just how much Toriel had done to ensure I wasn’t detected by outsiders. I almost wish I’d known about them as a child so I could have thanked her more instead of being silly and strong-willed. She was always awake earlier than I was, but I just figured she liked being up early. I found out as an adult that she actually loved sleeping in but would go to the door to the Ruins at an obscenely early hour each morning to listen for telltale signs of others approaching our home. She would sit there for minimum two to three hours each day, just listening and waiting._

_Perhaps it was better I didn’t know that she was afraid for me, or who she was listening for. It might have been a burden to the hope and trust in my soul, and I might have let myself succumb to fear. But, thanks to Mom (or “Goat-Mom” as I sometimes called her in jest), I had as happy a childhood as I could imagine._

 

* * *

 

“Child, why is six afraid of seven?”

Frisk looked up from their arithmetic work and rolled their eyes as if in annoyance (though in their mind they were trying furiously to figure out Toriel’s joke). No good—they were stumped. Toriel was trying to keep an impish grin off of her face, but she was failing rather miserably.

Frisk gave a sigh. “I don’t know, Mom,” and looked back down at their work. _One-hundred minus sixteen… take away ten, and it’s ninety… take away six, and it’s, it’s…_ “Eighty-four!” they announced triumphantly.

Toriel clapped her paws together and congratulated her child on their successful subtraction problem. “However, child,” she continued in a mischievous tone, “are you not curious why six is afraid of seven?”

“No! I mean, well, a little, but…” the child trailed off, more curious than annoyed at this point.

“Because,” winked the motherly goat, “ _seven ate nine._ ”

“Aaaaaaaaaaugh!” groaned the child, planting their face on the table, though they were smiling a bit. “Mom, your jokes are terrible!"

“Yes,” said Toriel, writing “jokes” on a piece of paper and grinning, “They certainly are.” And with that, she ripped the paper in half. Frisk began banging their head against the table in a repetitive motion.

“Moooooommmmmmmmm…” Toriel was still laughing as she stopped Frisk’s head from making contact with the table yet again. The two of them started giggling. Toriel then looked at the amount of work Frisk had out on their school table—they were certainly a hard worker! But perhaps they had done enough academic work for one day. 

“Child, I think you have done enough arithmetic for the day. Let us go outside and play!” Frisk’s face lit up.

“Mom, can we play Spin Dash?” Toriel nodded, and the child dashed off to grab the game’s equipment. Waiting for the child to return from their collecting, Toriel looked over Frisk’s schoolwork spread on the table. With a few minor errors, it looked very well done, by and large. Toriel’s heart swelled with pride: Her child was very intelligent, and still not conceited by the fact. A clatter of noise from down the hall announced that Frisk had collected the equipment necessary for Spin Dash, and the child arrived, carrying several scarves in different colors, a handful of small hoops, two large hoops, several small sticks with colored flags tied to the tops of them, and two sturdy dowels that were a little shorter than the child.

They chose to play in a long hallway in the Ruins not too far from Toriel’s house. Two large hoops were set up at one end of the long hallway and the rest of the materials were used to create obstacles. All that was left, now, was for Toriel and Frisk to don their colors and begin the game. Toriel chose green, and Frisk chose red. Each carrying a sturdy wooden dowel, Toriel and Frisk tied the colored scarf around their forehead and assumed a ready position inside the large hoops at one end of the hall.

“Ready? Set? …Go!” cried Frisk, and the game began!

Toriel and Frisk quickly placed the ends of their dowels on the ground and their foreheads on the other end. Each then spun in a circle around the dowel a full ten times, then dropped the dowel and staggered (almost as if drunk) to the first set of obstacles, marked by a stick with a yellow flag: the little hoops. Frisk reached those first but had trouble properly placing each foot inside the little circles, tripping a little and placing a foot outside the hoops. With an “Aw, man!” they raced back to the yellow flag, preparing to start the little hoops again. This gave Toriel, who had been just a little behind Frisk before they had to restart the little hoops, a chance to catch up. She made it through the hoops at a fairly quick pace. Frisk caught up fairly quickly, though, face set with determination.

They had reached the second set of obstacles, marked by an orange flag. Here, a spiral-like pathway had been marked out in orange scarves, and Toriel and Frisk had to crawl like snails down the track as quickly as they could. At first, Toriel had a slight lead, but Frisk put out a spurt of energy and out-crawled Toriel at the last second. Frisk dashed to the next flag, Toriel hot on their heels, both of them whooping excitedly.

The third set of obstacles was made of many flag-sticks, all blue. They had been arranged in two lines running toward the end of the hall. Frisk and Toriel each ran at the ends of the lines of sticks, weaving between the sticks quickly and making their way to the end of the hallway. Between the ragged breathing came an occasional “OW” from Frisk as they ran into a stick instead of dodging it. As the two of them finished dodging and weaving, it looked like Toriel had taken the lead. “Child, I may win!” called Toriel, and Frisk let out a competitive laugh. “No way, Goat-Mom!” Mother and child picked up their speed: All now that remained was a few more sticks to dodge, and they were at the last set of obstacles.

Marked by a hot pink flag, the fourth and final section of the obstacle course loomed into view: The acrobatics section. First, they had to forward somersault five times, then crab walk backwards for twenty steps, and then they had to leap like froggits until they hit the end of the obstacle course, which was marked by a stick with a purple flag. Whoever touched it first would win.

Toriel had maintained a good lead up until the moment when the race called for walking like a crab. Somersaults were not difficult for her (despite her horns), but walking on her hands and feet, backwards? She felt herself slow and caught a glimpse of Frisk practically blasting past in a crab-walk of incredible speed.

“ _Goat_ to speed up, Mom!” called the cheeky child. _My jokes are rubbing off on them! My friend would be proud_ , Toriel thought with a smile, but she tried to pick up her pace.

Toriel grinned. “You had baa-ter watch out, child! I am coming!” However, it wasn’t enough. Even though she managed to close the distance between herself and Frisk during the froggit-leaping significantly, Frisk was soon waving the purple flag in triumph, chest heaving and face bright with victory.

“I won, Mom! I won!”

“Yes you did, my child! That was a Spin Dash worthy of great praise!” Frisk’s face was so full of joy, still red from the previous minutes’ exertion. Toriel bent over, giving the child a kiss on the forehead. When Frisk tried to wave her away, she trapped Frisk’s head between her paws and commenced giving them as many kisses as she could.

“Stop, Mom!” Frisk was clearly embarrassed, but Toriel gave at least three more kisses to their forehead before she stopped. “Eugh!” cried Frisk after Toriel let them go, wiping at their forehead with the back of their hand. Laughing, Toriel ruffled Frisk’s hair and gave them a hug, which Frisk returned.

“Let us take a victory lap, my child!” Toriel picked Frisk up and placed them on her shoulders. The two of them paraded around the empty passageway, Frisk acknowledging invisible spectators and waving their flag exuberantly.

That night, as the child lay asleep, Toriel began to plan a party for what she believed would be the child’s ninth birthday. _Maybe we truly will be left alone here_ , she thought, smiling. 

She gave the sleeping child a kiss on the cheek, smiling fondly at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I wish I could play Spin Dash. I think it would be really fun...
> 
> Also, in case my writing didn't make it super clear, I'm saying Frisk is about nine years old at this point.


	11. Unwelcome memories, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: I reference domestic violence. I will be sure to add the appropriate tag, but just to be safe, here's this little warning note. Also mild language warning.

_I caught Mom staring off into the distance, sometimes. She didn’t know I could see the sad, troubled look on her face. I wondered what she was thinking about, and whatever it was, I wished I could make it go away._

 

* * *

 

“Hey.” The voice behind the door wasn’t as jokingly apathetic as normal. It sounded… tense. “I got a weird question for you.” The question interrupted Toriel’s musings, and she made a small questioning noise. 

Her friend grunted and fell silent for a few moments, idly making some odd tapping noises that Toriel couldn’t place. Toriel’s thoughts wandered, and not for the first time did she wish she could see what her friend looked like.

Toriel and her friend behind the door had been trading jokes together for almost a year, now. She still didn’t know his name (and he didn’t know hers), but she figured perhaps that was for the best. Her friend had begun to share a few small details about his life, like the fact that he had a younger brother who couldn’t decide if he liked cooking or sparring better (it appeared he was enthusiastic with both). But, though her friend seemed trustworthy enough, Toriel hadn’t told him specifics about her life in the Ruins aside from things like cooking recipes and new jokes she invented. 

“What is your question, friend?” Toriel broke the silence. 

“Why would my brother want me to tell this door to the Ruins that King Asgore Dreemurr is on his way to inspect his whole kingdom?” Toriel’s voice hitched in her throat.

“He… The king… He’s coming here?!” Her voice was unsteady, despite her efforts to keep it smooth. Unease crept into her bones, and she shivered.

The voice on the other side sounded cautious, yet menacing. “My brother said I was supposed to tell this door the king was comin’. Now why would my brother do that?”

Toriel wasn’t listening to her friend very well at this point. Her body and mind had started to go blank and freeze up. She sat down heavily and tried to breathe through a throat constricted with memories—bad memories.

“What the hell is going on here, lady?!” barked the voice from the other side of the door. How long had her friend been trying to get her attention, wondered Toriel, her mind struggling through a thick fog, trying to keep up with the words her ears were taking in. “My bro does some strange things—don’t even get me started on his _impastable_ ideas to catch humans—but he’s never asked me to take an oddly-specific message to a _door_ that I so happen to know has someone living behind it! Now answer me! What the hell is going on?”

When Toriel still didn’t respond, the voice behind the door struck the door with a heavy, resounding blow that left Toriel’s ears ringing. The noise prompted a noise of distress from Toriel, but it shook her from her paralyzing thoughts enough to respond.

“I… the king… I know him.” She registered surprise in the hissed intake of breath from the other side of the door. “I think he may be on his way here to… hurt me.”

“So,” came the voice. “You know the king. How?”

“I used to live in his household,” Toriel replied, hoping she wouldn’t be asked in what capacity she’d lived there. “I’ve lived in the Ruins alone for many years, now.”

“What’d ya do, dig up his flowerbeds?” Toriel didn’t answer his sarcastic question, and the voice tried again. “Why didn’t you stay?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” The voice was harsh, unrelenting.

Toriel felt old emotions resurging. “I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to!”

“What happened?”

“He made me leave!”

“Why?”

“Why are you asking this?!”

“Tell me, damn it!”

“Do not ask me to do that! _Please_!”

The voice on the other side of the door rose to a dangerously loud volume. “Do you know what a risk it is for me, a sentry _employed by the king_ , to be chumming up with someone the king fucking banished?! That’s a hell of a risk for me to take, especially when my brother is trying to join the god damn Royal Guard! I will not risk my safety or my brother’s without a damn good reason, so you better tell me what happened or I’ll bring the king here myself!”

The threat was too much; Toriel’s lungs wouldn’t work.

“Answer me!” The door shuddered as the voice from the other side struck it again and again. The noise, the yelling—it was too much for Toriel, too familiar. Toriel’s lungs opened, and she began to hyperventilate, unable to control her body’s rocking motion and the strangled-sounding noises emerging from her throat.

Toriel’s being was washed in dread, her soul sucked backward in time to remember… remember… __And to wish she could forget.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY FOR RUINING CUTE THINGS. (Sort of.)
> 
> Also, the whole story won't be sad, though up until now I've only hinted at the sad stuff. I'll be talking about the darker aspects of this story more explicitly from now on, but I will make sure to put in fluff, too. Fluff is good; fluff is life. (OK, not really, but it's still important because life doesn't have to revolve only around bad things.)


	12. Unwelcome memories, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, be aware that I imply domestic violence (and PTSD, I guess).
> 
> Also note for this chapter that we'll see some of Toriel's memories.

 

_Mom never directly told me about what made her sad—I had to piece much of it together myself. She’d been through a lot._

 

* * *

 

Eyes glassed open, Toriel’s stiff frame slumped against the door to the Ruins. She made no movement as the door shook violently. She didn’t hear what her friend from outside said, her mind living far in the past.

 _Toriel was pregnant with her first child. She just knew that, one day, her little one would be a kind, just heir to the throne of Monsterkind. She had even come up with a name for them: Asriel, a mix of her name and her husband’s. Sitting on the mountain slopes, golden sunlight from the setting sun on her face, Toriel pieced together a crown of the buttercups that grew so abundantly there. She placed the little circlet on her rounded tummy, fondly imagining her child wearing their own crown, one day._ _It would be perfect._

The door shuddered under another blow.

_Today, Asgore had come back from the Surface with a frown on his face that Toriel wasn’t accustomed to seeing. He walked more briskly than usual, his eyes darting around quickly. Toriel noticed him staring at his claws with an almost scared look at one point, but when she asked him why, he pretended he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. Toriel told herself she must have imagined it._

A splinter wedged into Toriel’s hand as the door rattled again.

 _The humans had told him he couldn’t build on their land, and that he needed to respect the boundaries set in the treaties of old. Asgore had broken one of those human’s legs in rage before he left the Surface._ _Asgore had left a bruise on her face when she had been sympathetic to the humans’ point of view._

A frustrated yell from outside the door still yielded no response from Toriel.

_Asgore was planning all-out assault on humanity. His violent behavior was increasing in all spheres of life, too, though only she saw it. She felt it, too, bore it in bruises, marks, scars on her body. All carefully hidden. Nobody would believe her if she said anything, anyway, so she kept quiet._

The door stopped shaking; the voice was breathing hard.

_“Our child will rule both worlds! I vow this!”_

_“You aren’t doing this for our child.” The burns she got that day, those were the ones Frisk had found._

_Frisk? Who was Frisk?_

_Frisk… is my child…_

Toriel’s mind snapped out of the past. She struggled to calm her breathing. The voice on the other side of the door was silent for what was probably only a minute or so, but the time seemed to stretch on endlessly. Finally, hearing Toriel’s breathing calm down, the voice broke the uncomfortable quiet.

“Look, lady,” he began. “I won’t pretend I’m not sorry for you. You can’t make up that kind of fear.” He paused, hoping his words would make their way into Toriel’s still-panicked mind. “But,” he continued, “I still need to know what happened. I have people countin’ on me, so for their sakes I’ve gotta make sure I’m not going against the king for no good reason. Pretty sure he wouldn’t like knowin’ his sentry’s all up and chummy with someone he kicked out.” The voice chuckled darkly, then fell silent again.

“Sc—scars,” came Toriel’s tiny voice when she was finally able to bring air into her lungs and keep it there long enough to form words. “He… he left me, m-my children… h-he left us with… with scars.”  

There was silence, broken only by small noises from Toriel.

 _Damn. She sounds… broken_ , thought the voice from outside the door. “I’m tempted to not believe you, lady,” came the voice. “I’ve met the king, and he seemed alright—working to get monsters freed from living underground, all that…”

Toriel was still laying there, still making small noises of distress.

The voice sighed again. “But I can’t believe the fear in your voice, in your soul, is fake. From the time we’ve spent telling jokes, I’m gonna take a risk and guess you’re only capable of lying if you know it won’t hurt anyone or if you’re tryin’ to help someone. And I only heard one lie in all you've told me.”

There was another lengthy pause. Then:

“Who else is in there with you?”


	13. In which Toriel sings a song to the child

_And yet, after having been through so much hurt in her life, Toriel was able to find hope. That is a true mark of strength: the ability to go through hell and walk out with hope. I like to think that if the king had maybe just forgotten about her, I could have spent my whole life with Toriel, in peace._

_I can never forgive the king for stealing her hope._

 

* * *

 

Frisk had been drawing that morning. Little figures of Frisk and Toriel were sitting under the tree in Toriel’s front yard, eating pie together. They were wearing silly hats, too—even the little snail Frisk drew in the grass had a hat on. Frisk looked at the two paper hats they had painstakingly folded while they waited for Toriel to come and make breakfast. Their birthday was approaching, so party hats seemed necessary, and Frisk was very proud of their work. They smiled and turned back to their drawing, writing out “Birthday Party” in big letters across the top of their picture.

They couldn’t wait for their birthday! They absent-mindedly started humming the tune from their little bedside music box.

They had just finished drawing a party hat for the tree and the house when Frisk heard Toriel softly call for them. Excitedly, they grabbed the party hats to show her and raced to the sound of her voice; looked like she’d come in from her usual morning walk around the Ruins.

“Mom, look! I made party hats for my birthday!” cried Frisk in excitement. Toriel smiled at the hats, her eyes beginning to brim with tears.

“They are indeed beautiful, my child.” Her voice was shaky, and Frisk’s face fell.

“Mom, are you sick?” Concern etched itself into the child’s face. “Can I do anything to help you feel bett—“ Their sentence was cut off as Toriel scooped them into a giant, rib-crushing hug.

“No, child, I am not sick,” came her muffled response. “But I have a surprise for you,” she said, putting the child down and holding them at arm’s length, hands on their shoulders. “We are having your birthday party today!” she cried, smiling broadly.

Frisk danced with excitement, then stopped. “But Mom, do we have enough pie left?” Frisk frowned. “We’re both supposed to eat pie on my birthday.”

“Something has made my plans rushed, child, so I will have to settle for stealing a few bites from you,” winked the motherly goat. Frisk pretended to be upset at the prospect of having pie stolen from them but giggled and nodded.

The party was quite nice. Frisk and Toriel dashed through leaf piles, told silly jokes, made up stories, and sang their favorite songs. There was even an epic tickle fight, which Toriel won by a landslide, leaving Frisk flat out on the ground, chortling. To finish the party, Toriel announced she had a song for Frisk. Breathing in deeply, she began to sing:

 

_Dearest little child_

_Do you know what day it_

_Is today?_

_This day marks the day that_

_You arrived_

_To be my precious,_

_Little one,_

_My heart’s only desire!_

_Dearest child of mine_

_Another year has come and_

_Left behind_

_Precious mem’ries of the time_

_We’ve shared_

_Together, all these years_

_Happy birthday, dearest little child!_

 

After she finished singing the song (which prompted thunderous applause from Frisk), Toriel turned to face them, face glistening with tears that wetted her fur to her skin. Frisk, seeing her face, gave her a hug and started crying, asking what was wrong. Toriel laughed, tears splashing onto the child’s paper party hat.

“My dear, dear child, my Frisk…” her voice was cut off by a sob. “I am, I am… I am afraid you cannot stay here any longer.” Frisk looked as though they’d been stabbed through the heart.

“B-but… I don’t want to leave!” Frisk looked around wildly. “I’ll do all the chores! And I’ll brush your fur! I’ll do all my schoolwork and eat all my snails at dinner! Just don’t make me go!” They gripped Toriel fiercely, hands making little knots in her purple dress.

“My child, I do not send you away willingly!” Frisk’s party hat was wet and limp from catching Toriel’s tears. “I have kept you safe from those who would wish you harm thus far, but I cannot do so anymore.” Her voice broke. “If you stay with me, you will be found by bad people. Therefore, you must run from here…”

“I don’t care if they’re bad! I won’t go!”

“But you must, child, you must. You must be ready to go by morning.”

“No! No, no, no, no, no!”

The two of them sat together, crying. Then Toriel carefully carried the child into the house and tucked them in her own bed, holding them until they fell asleep. She looked at the face of her sleeping child—still red from crying, but calm and peaceful in sleep. Toriel kissed the sleeping face softly.

_My child, I tried to protect you, and I have failed. I am so sorry…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the song Toriel sings is to the tune of "Fallen Down." If you guys would be interested, I could try to make a recording of the song to show to you guys. Let me know if that would be of interest!
> 
> And I know things are sad, but I do promise there will be happy things, too!


	14. In which Sans still does not know the name of the child

_I remember my last few hours with Toriel all too well._

_When she told me I had to leave, I was devastated. I could tell her heart was shattering on the inside, though she really did try to be brave for me._

_She gently shook me awake, forcing a smile onto her face. She helped me put on my favorite sweater, one she’d knitted for me, and she gave me a few meager supplies. Then, she gently led me out of the house. I couldn’t help but notice her house was devoid of any sign I had ever lived there—all my art was gone, my toys were hidden, the fridge was no longer covered in my notes to her. It was all very… final._

 

* * *

 

Frisk was still asleep, curled in a little ball that barely took up any space on Toriel’s large bed. Toriel had been awake all night, preparing for the arrival of the king. Her eyes rested on Frisk’s face, so serene compared to when she’d told them they had to leave.

_I am not ready to lose another one_ , she thought, eyes moistening. She kept moving, though, knowing she was running out of time. She looked at the small pile of things she’d assembled for Frisk: Their favorite warm sweater, boots, their most intact pair of long shorts, a small adhesive bandage if they needed it, and one piece of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. She felt a little guilty for having told the child only one slice was left for their birthday party when there had been two, but she had wanted Frisk to have some home-cooked food on the road.

_The road to where?_ She knew it wasn’t all her fault that Frisk was in danger. Had anyone else found them, Frisk would have surely been turned in even sooner. (The thought didn’t help as much as she wished it did.)

Moving to the schoolroom, Toriel began picking up Frisk’s drawings, schoolwork, and art projects, trying not to damage them. She placed them into a box and moved on to Frisk’s room, putting clothes away and making the beds in there, trying to remember what the room looked like as a memorial. She pushed away the thought that the room would soon be silent and empty. All of Frisk’s things she could find were placed into the box.

Hoping she had found everything, Toriel carried the box outside and through the long corridors of the Ruins. She carefully lowered the box into a hole in the floor, quickly jumping down beside it. Swiftly moving to the corner of the room, she packed fallen leaves around the box, hiding it quite effectively. Toriel climbed out and headed back home.

Her home looked empty now that it showed no traces of her child. It looked the same as it did when her home served as a prison, a painful reminder of her banishment and the death of her children. Toriel forced herself to keep moving, to confirm that the one last part of her plan was in place.

_Please be there…_

When she arrived at the door to the Ruins, Toriel softly knocked twice on the door and was rewarded by a grunt from her friend.

“Everythin’ ready to go?” came his voice.

“I just have to wake the child,” came Toriel’s shaky reply. She was close to tears.

Her friend sighed. “I’m sorry. I can tell you like the kid a lot.”

A tear splashed on Toriel’s dress. “’Like’ is not a strong enough word, friend,” she said with a sniffle. “This child reminded me how to hope, how to love… and what it is like to have others love you.”

The two of them sat on either side of the door together in silence. After a few minutes, Toriel pushed herself up with a sigh, dashing little droplets from her eyes. “You are sure you will help me, friend?”

A grunt of affirmation came through the door.

“And you know what you must do?”

The voice grunted, seeming to shrug. “Plan seems simple enough.”

Neither of them felt like voicing the unhappy truth that, in reality, there was a whole lot that could go wrong. In the face of what they had to do, though, neither of them said anything.

“And you hid all the kid’s stuff?”

“Yes,” replied Toriel, thinking back to the box buried in the Ruins. “It would take long enough for him to find it that my child may be safe by that point.”

“What’s their name?”

“It is better that you hear it from them, and not me. For your own sake.” Toriel sighed sadly. “Goodbye, my friend. I hope I can meet you in person, one day. I must go wake the child.” She paused, breathing constricted through tears. “Please… take care of my child.”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck with this through all the sad stuff so far, I just wanted to say thanks. I know the story went from being fairly cute and fuzzy to, well, this... so yeah.


	15. In which the child runs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be slightly longer than the others have been, but not by too much. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy---this is the first chapter from the point of view of someone other than Toriel!

_Near the door to the Ruins, she gave me instructions. “My child,” she said, “a very large monster will walk through those doors soon. If you stay very quiet and remain hidden, he will simply walk straight to my home and not know to look for you.” She paused to try and get her breathing under control, succeeding marginally. “When the big monster is gone, you will see the door be pushed open again from the outside, and then you must quickly slip through and run as you’ve never run before.”_

_“I don’t want to go.” I was crying, and her eyes pooled with tears._

_She had looked at me with both the deepest adoration and the deepest heartache. “I do not want you to go, either, dearest little one, but I could not live with myself if I let you be hurt.” She embraced me, then, both of us rocking in silent grief for a few minutes._

_“Child, Frisk.” She smiled through her tears, holding my face in her hands. “I must go, now. Do not forget my instructions, and I hope we may meet again, some day. I love you more than you could know.” She kissed my cheeks and forehead, I did the same to her, and then she gave me one last smile and hug before she left. She never turned around once she started walking away; I think it was so my last memory of her would be of her smiling, not being visibly broken by having to leave me._

 

* * *

 

Sans waited in his hiding spot outside the door to the Ruins. He knew the plan: wait for Asgore to unlock the door to the Ruins, wait until the king was safely away from the kid’s hiding spot (Sans would have to very carefully estimate how long to wait) before he opened the door. He’d decided on opening the door with magic from his hiding spot—he didn’t want to scare the kid off immediately, and if he was honest with himself, he wanted to see what they were like before he met them.

He sat down against a tree trunk. From his spot among the trees lining the path, he was able to observe all that occurred at the door with no trouble at all. Looking at his now snow-soaked pink slippers ruefully, he waited.

He nodded off once or twice, but his eyesockets snapped open when he heard voices from inside the door to the Ruins. He only heard snatches of words: “My child,” “remain hidden,” “large monster,” “run,” “love you more than.” He heard muffled sobs—familiar ones from her, and some from a younger, alien voice. _The kid._

The waiting resumed. Sans was impressed: Overall, the kid sounded like they were remaining utterly silent and obedient to the lady’s instructions. Ruefully, Sans thought of one of the kids in the local town who couldn’t seem to obey instructions, particularly those that involved any variant of “Stay away from Undyne.” Silently, he chuckled at the memory of having to tow the armless little creature back to his house one night after the kid had rolled around in blue dye, trying to turn their skin blue like Undyne’s. The look on the parents’ faces—!

The waiting continued. Sans, after finding his head drooping multiple times, began to worry that maybe the human had fallen asleep, too. _If Asgore catches them nappin’, there’ll be hell to pay…_ Just then, he heard the sound of shoes scuffing the ground on the other side of the door. The human was awake, then. _Good_.

Asgore’s first footsteps were so faint as to be unnoticeable at first. Minutes passed by, and the noise grew more pronounced, though still muffled by the snow. The footsteps were heavy and quickly-paced. Sans straightened against the tree trunk—King Asgore Dreemurr would soon arrive.

Small metallic clanking noises integrated into the footsteps, and as the king came into view, Sans noted he was in his decorative battle armor, which the people of the Underground just adored. The people really loved this guy, didn’t they? _I thought he was alright, too, until—_ His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the king fumbling for a key on his keychain and then loudly opening the door to the Ruins.

_Here we go._

Once the king’s noises had faded into the distance, Sans let his left eye glow and carefully opened one of the doors. A few moments later, a small, brown-haired human dashed out onto the path and kept running.

 _I’ll catch up to you soon_ , thought the skeleton. When the child was out of sight down the path, Sans quickly obliterated traces they’d left in the snow so the king would have no indication a child had run from the Ruins. Sans shut the door to the Ruins, cringing as he heard Asgore’s voice raised and his friend’s voice cry out in pain. Sans gritted his teeth in anger, feeling his molars grind against each other.

 _One day, Asgore, you’ll answer for this._ There was nothing he could do to help his friend, though, so he pulled a whoopee-cushion out of his pocket and began closing the gap between himself and the human child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fun stuff will happen in the next chapter, I promise!


	16. In which the child is caught up to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ought to be a bit more fun than the past few have been. It's also a bit longer than usual, but again, not by too much. Hope you guys like it!
> 
> Also, I really enjoy hearing your theories about what's going on. I have a whole lot of details and story plans that I will be incorporating in future, but it's really fun to see what ideas you guys have---not only is it fun for me to hear, but it helps me address any questions you guys have about the story, so please feel free to bounce ideas at me! Even if I don't address your question immediately within the story, I do my best to address it somewhere in my writing in the future.
> 
> All right, that is all. Enjoy what I hope is a fun chapter!

_Toriel was a great teacher, bless her soul, but her curriculum for me didn’t include other monster types. Perhaps she didn’t want me to think about the fact that I was isolated from others? Regardless, I had no idea what a skeleton was, so my first time meeting Sans was… special._

 

* * *

 

Sans lay on the couch at his house, mulling over the situation: His friend behind the door had been harboring a human. Sans was now harboring that same human, now sound asleep in Papyrus’ racecar bed.

Scratching the back of his skull, he went through yet another round of questioning: _What happens to me an’ Paps if this goes south? How do I hide a kid? Hell, how do I take care of a kid?_

He had followed the human along to path toward Snowdin Town, far enough back that the human did not see him at all. He had watched them as their burst of adrenaline had faded, leaving them to shiver in the cold as they trudged onward, frigid air whipping their hair around their face. Sans had felt himself sympathize with the kid, despite the fact that he wasn’t affected by cold as much (being a skeleton had its perks).

When they got near the “fence” his brother had built, Sans had decided it was time to make himself known. Creating and stepping through a gap in reality, he had appeared behind the human and loudly broken a large branch lying across the pathway. Man, this kid could jump! They’d gone straight up, making a small noise of alarm. Though they were shaking from fear, now, not just the cold, they kept walking forward. Sans let himself be visible as a moving shadow moving in their direction, catching up. He could practically see their soul itself panicking as they realized they were being followed and began sprinting at top speed.

He almost felt bad… almost, but not quite. He had to make sure they were as good as his friend had said. He needed a chance to see the kid unprepared, off-guard. He needed to see their real nature. No sense risking himself or his brother if the kid wasn’t worth it.

Naturally, the tool for the job was his trusty whoopee-cushion. When the child had reached the overly-large fence across a small bridge, they had paused to catch their breath from running. Sans took advantage of this to close the distance between them.

“Human,” he’d said, voice low and threatening. He saw the human flinch and their shoulders tense, but they were too out of breath to run and seemed to know it. “Don’t you know how to greet a new pal?” Their knees were knocking together, and Sans began to really hope this child was as good as his friend behind the door had implied—he’d hate to rat out someone who seemed this scared. “Turn around and shake my hand,” he’d said forcefully. The child had slowly turned, as if in a trance. When they saw him, their eyes shot wide, and they’d tried to back away from him only to back straight into the “fence” behind them. Sans had merely stepped closer, a bony hand extended to the human. Fear and fascination on their face, the human reached out to shake his hand.

“Phbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt!” The fart noise was only slightly muffled by the nearby snow. When the sounds died down, the child, caught between a combination of high emotion, exhaustion, and this unexpected noise, abruptly started laughing and fell backwards onto the path. They just sat there, laughing.

Sans’ grin widened by just a hair. _The kid has a good sense of humor._ Putting away the whoopee-cushion he’d been holding (and holding out his hands to show they were now whoopee cushion-free), he offered a hand to the child. After a moment’s hesitation, they took his hand and he pulled them up.

“Hehe… the old whoopee-cushion in the hand trick,” said Sans, watching the human’s face crinkle up into a wary, but good-natured smile. Despite his initial caution, Sans was beginning to soften up to this child. When he’d asked if they were hungry, they’d nodded yes and he’d taken them to his own house (via shortcut), promising he’d be back with food before long. He’d ordered a burger and fries from Grillby and carefully carried them home, where the child promptly stared at them in confusion.

“It’s… it’s a burger, kid.” The human sniffed the food and gave it a bite—the blissful expression they made was comical. Then, they tried the fries, and a deep sigh of contentment released from them. (Sans nodded in approval at this kid’s taste in food.)

But then they’d taken off through the house, inspecting things, speaking so quickly and quietly Sans couldn’t keep up with them. When he found them climbing into Papyrus’ bed, soggy shoes placed neatly next to the door, he just couldn’t tell them no… So here he was, sitting on the couch, wondering what to do with this kid, how to hide them, how to take care of them well. This was a lot of bother.

“BROTHER! WHY AREN’T YOU AT YOUR STATION?!”

He must have nodded off, because he hadn’t heard Papyrus enter the house. “I’m on break, bro,” Sans mumbled, eyesockets sliding shut again.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LAZYBONES!! GET UP AND RECALIBRATE. YOUR. PUZZLES!”

When Sans made no move to get up, Papyrus stomped a boot into the ground and let out a “NYEH!” of frustration. “IF YOU DECIDE TO GET UP IN THE NEXT YEAR, I WILL BE IN MY ROOM SOLVING THE HOROSCOPE!” He moved toward the stairs.

Sans’ face went slack. He’d get up later; he was just tired from rescuing the kid.

…the kid. His eyesockets snapped wide open.  _Oh, shit._


	17. In the distance, ketchup drips softly to the floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried writing this chapter twice from a different perspective before I realized it really needed to be told from Sans' point of view. Third time's the charm, though, and I'm honestly quite happy with this!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_If I’d thought Sans was scary, his brother Papyrus was absolutely terrifying! Twice as tall, wearing armor, and he carried himself like a warrior. From the way he and Sans talked, though, I soon figured out they were brothers._

_Still didn’t change the fact that Papyrus was huge and scary, but whatever._

 

* * *

 

 _I’ve gotta keep him away from the kid! Shit…_ “Hey, uh, Paps, I just remembered I needed your help!” Sans frantically leapt up from the couch and ran toward the taller skeleton. Papyrus’ browbones crinkled.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, BROTHER?”

Sans’ mind raced, looking for something to distract his brother with. Remembering he had a bottle of ketchup stashed in his hoodie, Sans had an idea.

“I spilled ketchup on the kitchen ceiling,” mumbled Sans, managing to look apologetic and teleporting to the kitchen where he swiftly used magic to send a splatter of ketchup onto the ceiling right above the sink, leaving the open bottle next to the counter. He heard Papyrus’ footsteps behind him.

“SANS! NO ‘SHORTCUTS’ IN THE HOUSE!” cried Papyrus before he beheld the open bottle of ketchup and the mess that was the kitchen ceiling. “HOW DID YOU SPILL KETCHUP ON THE CEILING?! WHY DIDN'T YOU CLOSE THE LID?!” Ketchup dripped on his battle armor. “EUGH!!”

“Sorry, bro,” grinned Sans, enjoying his brother’s germophobic flailings as he tried to get the offending liquid off his armor. “Looks like you’re…”

“IF THIS IS A PUN, I SWEAR TO GOD—“

“A _lid-_ dle upset.”

“SAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNS!!!”

Sans chuckled at the sight of his brother, who prided himself as being very brave in battle, cautiously edging toward the drippings coming from the ceiling, towel held over his head to protect him. (Sans couldn’t help himself—a few times, he used magic to make a small drip of ketchup zoom around the towel Papyrus was holding and hit him, causing Papyrus to drop the whole towel in alarm. Unfortunately for Papyrus, this left him temporarily vulnerable to all the ceiling’s ketchup drips, and his battle armor was soon covered in small red dots.)

Sans was enjoying messing with his brother so much he didn’t even notice that Frisk, awoken from their nap by Papyrus’ shouting, had wandered downstairs with bleary eyes and was watching the spectacle from the kitchen doorway. Had Sans been watching their face, Sans would have seen Frisk’s fear at seeing such a large, muscular skeleton (despite Papyrus’ technical lack of muscle, it was clear from looking at him that he was athletic).

Every great prank has to end. Sans knew this, and it made him a little sad. On the flipside, though, whenever a great prank ended, he knew he got a chance to watch the prankee’s face as they realized what was going on.

…totally worth it.

Sans hadn’t turned off his blue magic quick enough, and Papyrus had figured out why stray bits of ketchup were hitting him. Furious, the towering skeleton glowered at Sans, who held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“SANS, THIS ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE! I’VE ALREADY HAD TO WRESTLE WITH UNDYNE TODAY, AND NOW YOU’VE MADE MY ARMOR DIRTY!”

Beneath the frustration, Sans could sense exhaustion radiating from the large skeleton. _Oh, right, he had a cooking lesson today…_ “How’d your cooking lesson go, Paps?”

Papyrus massaged the sides of his skull, sighing. “IT WAS VERY GOOD! AS ALWAYS! THOUGH I DO WISH COOKING WAS A LITTLE LESS… VIOLENT.” When Sans made a questioning face, Papyrus shrugged. “WHILE I AM A CAPABLE WARRIOR AND SPARRING PARTNER, UNDYNE’S PIANO IS NOT SO WELL-EQUIPPED.” He paused, head sinking down. “SHE LOVED THAT PIANO, AND I DID NOT ENJOY SEEING HER SAD BECAUSE IT HAD THREE SPEARS AND TWO BONES STUCK IN IT. I ALSO DO NOT ENJOY BEING NOOGIED.”

Barely keeping his mirth in check, Sans reached up and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Sounds like the two of you got a little… _keyed_ _up_.”

“SANS, PLEASE.”

“What, bro? Am I causing _treble_?”

“SANS, STOP.”

“Paps, don’t be so _high-strung_.”

“SANS!” Papyrus started moving toward the shorter skeleton. Sans backed up. (Frisk also backed up and went to the living room, but the skelebros were both unaware.)

“Whoa, Paps, don’t get _violin-t_ on me! ‘s just a joke!”

“OH MY GOD, SANS! DO YOU EVER STOP?”

“Call me a fermata, bro, ‘cause I keep on going!”

“SAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSS!!!”

Frisk was now hiding behind the couch. Their initial fear of Papyrus had worn off slightly as they saw what a big goof Papyrus was. He was now trying to chase Sans around the house, but when he got close to the small skeleton, Sans teleported away, prompting Papyrus to yell, “WHAT DID I _JUST_ TELL YOU ABOUT ‘SHORTCUTS’ IN THE HOUSE?!?” Sans merely grinned, declared he was too short to make anything _but_ shortcuts, and Papyrus groaned loudly.

It was all so funny that Frisk, peeking above the couch, began to giggle, stopping short when they found two pairs of eyes looking at them. Sans’ expression was one of utter guilt, and Papyrus looked as though he’d just won the lottery. Papyrus grabbed Frisk by their shoulders in triumph, placing them on the couch, and was about to launch into a victory speech when he was interrupted by a loud:

“Phbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt!”

Frisk burst out laughing, Sans grinned apologetically, and Papyrus glared at the whoopee-cushion Frisk had sat on.

In the distance, ketchup softly dripped to the floor, forgotten by all three occupants of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'm very proud of Sans' dialogue because I came up with all of his puns. I'm usually pretty bad at puns, so the fact that these worked is a huge victory for me!


	18. In which Frisk forgets to put on shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me so long to put up compared to normal---this chapter is closely tied with the following two chapters, so I needed to make sure I had all three of them figured out. Better to be sure of where the story is going than to publish chapters and then have to change it all later, right? (On the bright side, this means I actually have a clue where this story is headed in the next few chapters, so that means I can publish those ones sooner than not!)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for your patience. :P

_Papyrus…bless his soul. He couldn’t have known what I’d gone through before he met me, couldn’t have known that his suggestion of taking me to the capitol played on my newly-developed fear of leaving_ _safe places, couldn’t have known I’d panic and run…_ _(Also, I don’t know who came up with the idea of whoopee-cushions, but whoever did, I can’t decide if I want to slap them or hug them. Maybe both?)_

 

* * *

 

“SANS, OH MY GOD! IS THAT…“ Papyrus, now recovered from the embarrassment of sitting Frisk on a whoopee-cushion, had an almost manic excitement on his face. “A HUMAN?!”

“Actually, I think that’s a whoopee-cushion…”

“SANS!! I MEAN _IN FRONT_ OF THAT DRATTED NOISEMAKER!” He paused, expression full of hope. “IS, IS THAT A _HUMAN_?”

Sans looked at the kid, worry and apology written on his face. Shoulders slouching in resignation, he gave a small grunt and nodded affirmation.

“OH MY GOD! SANS, I FINALLY DID IT!!” cried Papyrus, grasping Sans by his arms. “I HAVE SUCCESSFULLY CAPTURED A HUMAN!!” Papyrus bounced up, beginning what could only be described as the silliest dance of the century: He stomped his feet (laughing a loud “NYEH” at each footstep), waved his arms, and spun around like a madman. Sans put a protective arm around Frisk, pulling them backwards as his brother’s flailing arm came perilously close to hitting Frisk’s face.

“UNDYNE WILL… I’M GONNA… I’LL BE SO… POPULAR!!!” Papyrus chattered on for a few minutes, venting his excitement about the new opportunities turning in a human would afford. Sans and Frisk let him continue undisturbed, though Frisk did make an audible noise of disgust when Papyrus declared, “I WILL BATHE IN A SHOWER OF KISSES EVERY MORNING!”

“ _Shower_ do you think that’s hygienic?” winked Sans. After giving his brother and the child a warning glare, Papyrus continued his speech.

Sans, if he was being honest, wound up largely tuning himself out to what Papyrus was going on about. He’d heard variants of this speech for years, and while he’d normally encourage his brother’s ambitions, he needed to find a way to make Paps keep the kid’s presence a secret. He was debating whether or not he had enough sewing skill to make the kid a “monster mask” to wear as a disguise (he really didn’t have the skill, he concluded) when Papyrus began taking his victory speech into unwanted territory.

“HUMAN!” came Papyrus’ deafening declaration (Frisk covered their ears). “YOU SHALL NOT LEAVE THIS HOUSE! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL STOP YOU! I WILL THEN CAPTURE YOU! YOU WILL BE DELIVERED TO THE CAPITOL! THEN, THEN…” Papyrus’ gaze faltered and he frowned. “I’M NOT SURE WHAT’S NEXT… IN ANY CASE—” Papyrus failed to notice the expression of terror that was stealing over Frisk’s face, but Sans caught it and tried to shush the large skeleton’s speech.

“Paps, give it a rest for a sec! The kid’s scared!” Papyrus’ face fell as he confirmed that yes, Frisk was crying. He reached out to the child, trying to hold their hand (Sans recognized that gesture—it meant Paps was trying to help the human calm down), but they jerked away at his touch.

“OH NO! TINY HUMAN, I DO NOT WISH FOR YOU TO BE SAD! I…”

Whatever Papyrus would have said was lost as the child suddenly took off toward the front door, opened it, and ran out into the freezing air outside. Papyrus’ face was horrified.

“SANS, THE TINY HUMAN WORE NO SHOES… THEY WILL BE COLD…”

“Paps, we’ve gotta go get them _now_ ,” urged Sans, grabbing his brother’s hand and pulling him toward the door. The two brothers burst into the cold, following the child’s footprints in the quickly-falling snow outside.

“THEIR FOOTPRINTS GO THIS WAY!” Papyrus struck a dramatic pose, pointing in the direction of… an incoming blizzard.

_Fucking marvelous, kid._

“We gotta hurry, Paps,” called Sans over the rising wind. “Humans get damaged if they’re left out in the cold, and this kid's real little.” Papyrus picked up his pace, loudly calling for the “TINY HUMAN THAT LEFT THEIR SHOES IN THE HOUSE OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS.”

Ten minutes later, the swirling snow had wiped the last of Frisk’s footprints away. Desperate, Sans called out, “Kid! Where are you? We need to get you out of this storm!” No answer from the kid. Sans’ soul fell.

 _I promised her…_ “I promised her I’d keep you safe, goddamn it!” Sans felt a few tears spring into his eyes, freezing quickly in the dropping temperatures.

“BROTHER!” Sans’ head swiveled in the direction his brother’s voice came from. “I… I FOUND THEM, BROTHER, BUT THEY ARE VERY COLD!”

“God bless you, Paps!” Sans rushed over to where his brother stood, cradling Frisk’s very cold body against the wind. They were utterly motionless, save for slow, shallow breathing.

 _Shit. This is bad._ “Paps, they need to get home immediately. I’m takin’ a shortcut with the kid; you follow.” Papyrus’ head bobbed in affirmation, and he handed Frisk to Sans, who stepped through a gap in reality to place the child down on the couch. They seemed delirious from the cold, the only discernable word they said being “mom.”

“Hang on, kid,” muttered Sans.


	19. Well-earned sleep

_Hypothermia SUCKS!_

 

* * *

 

Sans had taken off Frisk’s soaked clothing and covered them in fluffy blankets when Papyrus arrived home. Together, the brothers gently tried to rub some warmth back into Frisk’s limbs, Papyrus’ desire to capture Frisk completely forgotten (at least for the moment). Both skeletons panicked a bit when Frisk, still not fully conscious, started shivering uncontrollably, but after nearly an hour of that, Frisk’s body temperature had returned to nearly normal.

Frisk, when they woke up, saw Papyrus sitting on the floor by the couch next to them, rubbing the back of their hand. Still frightened by Papyrus’ earlier speech, Frisk sharply pulled their hand away from Papyrus, causing the tall skeleton to burst into tears. Frisk, seeing how devastated Papyrus was, softened up and carefully crawled over to surround Papyrus’ head in a hug. Papyrus’ tears flowed even more freely at this point, and he muttered many a “NYOO HOO HOO” in between apologizing.

“I DID NOT MEAN TO, TO… SCARE YOU…” Fresh sobs broke from him.

Sans, returning to the room with a mug of warmed milk for Frisk, nearly dropped the mug when he walked in to see the kid sitting in Papyrus’ lap, giving him a big hug (which Papyrus tearfully returned). The short skeleton stood there, drinking in the strangeness of it all: Here was his brother, his strong, tall brother, seeking comfort from a tiny human child. It brought a small smile to his face. _Paps is too great to hurt good people_ , thought Sans, and he felt his soul calm.

Papyrus and the human were inseparable for the next few hours. Papyrus showed off his puzzles and action figures to Frisk, who in turn told Papyrus how to play hide-and-seek (a big hit). Papyrus didn’t notice that Frisk spoke minimally about their previous home, though Sans, having some background information on the subject, could understand why. The kid had been through one hell of a day.

In the evening, exhaustion caught up to Frisk, so the skeletons decided to turn the couch into a “human nest” (Papyrus’ words, not Sans’). Upon realizing Frisk didn’t have suitable pajamas, Papyrus excused himself upstairs to his room, where made a big deal out of finding the “GREATEST PAJAMAS FOR THE TINY HUMAN.” The end result was that Frisk was tucked into bed wearing a “sun’s out, guns out” T-shirt (with a picture of biceps wearing sunglasses on them) and a pair of Papyrus’ favorite ultra-fuzzy socks.

As the skelebros started walking upstairs after saying goodnight to Frisk, Frisk started softly crying again. Papyrus decided it was his job to stay with the human until they could fall asleep properly, so he sat beside the couch holding Frisk’s hand. Sans, anticipating a difficult conversation with his brother coming up, headed to the kitchen for a mug of ketchup to try to steel his nerves a bit. _Paps is just too good for this messed-up world we live in,_ he thought bitterly.

Sans sat down in the kitchen, slowly consuming his ketchup, thinking. He had to tell his brother that the human would be in danger if they were allowed to roam around, particularly since there was no telling when Asgore would walk back through Snowdin on his way back to the royal palace. But Sans couldn’t tell him that directly—Papyrus’ one dream in life was to join the king’s Royal Guard! That fact made it complicated, sure, but Sans was more concerned with the other side of what he’d have to tell his brother:

The idea that _anyone_ would hurt an innocent creature was totally foreign to Papyrus, who lived in a world of black-and-white, assuming that everyone else was motivated by the same pure reasons that drove him. Papyrus only ever wanted to help everyone he met, and he assumed the same of those around him.

Undyne, though… she could be dangerous. Sans wasn’t sure if she’d soften to the kid’s plight or take them straight to the king.

Sans looked up from his mug (now empty) and saw Papyrus standing in the kitchen doorway, quietly motioning for the two of them to walk up the stairs together. Sans nodded, and the brothers quietly moved past Frisk, whose small chest was rising and falling in a slow steady rhythm.

Reaching his room, Papyrus opened the door, turned on the light, and wordlessly motioned for Sans to sit down on the racecar bed. Sans walked over heavily and sat. Papyrus clicked the door shut and turned to face his brother, an expectant look on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be ready soon! Thanks for your patience, per usual---I know this chapter is more filler-y than usual. Fear not! More legitimate things will happen soon, along with some future fluff :)


	20. A late-night talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't realize this chapter was shorter than the others, but I'll make up for it in the next few! Hope you guys enjoy a little skele-chat :)

_The skelebros (you would not BELIEVE how much Papyrus hated that name, which only made me use it more) became my new family shortly after I met them. To a child who’s lost everything, friendship like theirs was such a gift._

_I won’t say they replaced Toriel, though, because who could replace a mother who loved so deeply? She fought for my innocence with a fire I’ve yet to see in any other creature._

 

* * *

 

“AHEM.” Papyrus’ voice was softer than usual, likely because he didn’t want to wake the human downstairs. Sans’ eyelight snapped up to meet Papyrus’, and he gave a small noise of question. Papyrus rolled his eyelights. “SANS,” he huffed in annoyance. “WILL YOU TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON?”

Sans shrugged, buying some time. He had to choose his words carefully… Sans shook his head as if trying to shake unhelpful thoughts out of his skull.

“WELL?!”

“Uh…” Sans scratched the back of his skull, making a dull scratching noise (he stopped when Papyrus’ tensed in discomfort from the sound). “So, you need to not tell anyone about this kid.”

Confusion was printed on the towering skeleton’s facial features. “I DO NOT UNDERSTAND, BROTHER. ALL OF MY TRAINING HAS BEEN TO HELP ME CAPTURE HUMANS AND BRING THEM TO UNDYNE! AND THEN I WILL BECOME A MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD, AND—“

“Yeah, I know, but,” Sans interrupted the beginning of another long speech, raising his hands. “This kid. They’re special. They… can’t be brought to Undyne yet.”

“WHY NOT? THEY ARE A HUMAN, ARE THEY NOT?”

“Yeah, bro, they are—“

“THEN WHY SHOULD I NOT BRING THEM TO UNDYNE? I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.”

 _You don’t get it ‘cause you’re too kind, Paps…_ “There are, um, how do I say this?” Sans shut his eyesockets, brain furiously searching for an acceptable answer to his brother’s confusion. “Some… some monsters wouldn’t have wanted to help the kid the way we did earlier.” Papyrus looked confused for a few moments, his brain trying to calculate the meaning behind his brother’s words. Then a horrified expression washed over his features as he understood what Sans was implying.

“YOU MEAN… SOME WOULD HAVE LET THEM…?” Eyes brimming with new tears, Papyrus looked at his brother’s face, begging Sans to contradict his incomplete question.

“Yeah, bro,” said Sans heavily.

“BUT WHY? THEY ARE SO TINY AND SMALL AND… AND…” Papyrus ducked his face away, hot tears splattering on his boots.

Sans sighed. Damn, but he hated having to disillusion his brother! “I don’t know who all would or wouldn’t help the kid around here, so we have to be careful,” Sans continued. “I think we need to keep the kid secret for a while, until we know who to trust. OK?” Papyrus nodded furiously, spraying Sans with tears. Looking at sodden marks on his hoodie, Sans sighed, then wordlessly gestured for Papyrus to come give him a hug. Instantly he was swept into a bone-crushing embrace with his brother, and they stayed like that until Papyrus felt better. Sans then got up, preparing to leave the room.

“Hey, Paps? One other thing about the kid.” Papyrus, in the middle of blowing his non-existent nose, inclined his head slightly to acknowledge he was listening. “Don’t ask them about where they lived before they came here.”

Papyrus looked confused, but Sans held up his hands to forestall further questions. “All we need to know is that they lived with their mom but are here now, so we need to make them feel like this is home. OK?”

“I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS!” declared the skeleton. “HOWEVER, I WILL WAIT TO ASK THE HUMAN UNTIL THEY ARE BIGGER AND WISH TO TALK ABOUT IT THEMSELVES.” Sans sighed in relief—after the kid ran into a goddamn blizzard because they were scared, it was good to know Paps wasn’t likely to trigger another such panicked episode. “BROTHER?”

“Hmm?”

“I THINK I WILL MAKE ‘FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI’ TOMORROW, IN HONOR OF THE TINY HUMAN!” Papyrus brandished the pajamas he’d chosen as if they were weapons of war, and Sans chuckled.

“Great idea, Paps.”

“THE NOODLES WILL BE FORMED OF FRIENDSHIP!”

“Sure, Paps.”

“THE MEATBALLS WILL BE FRIENDSHIP INCARNATE!”

“Sounds great, bro.”

“THE SAUCE WILL OOZE FRIENDSHIP AND SMELL AS SOOTHING AS A BEST-BROTHERS-HUG!”

“Mmmmm, sauce…” Sans closed his eyesockets, remembering a particularly good spaghetti sauce he’d, uh, _modified_ without Papyrus’ permission.

“ _AHEM._ ” Apparently, Papyrus remembered that sauce, too, because his face was unamused and he glared at his brother. “ABSOLUTELY. NO. KETCHUP. IN MY. SPAGHETTI. SAUCE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Sans sighed in resignation. “Fine,” he said, “‘night.” Sans teleported straight into bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Papyrus doesn't sound too naive here---what I hope came across is his utter sadness that people (or monsters, in this case) are willing to do evil to each other. It's one thing to read about bad guys in history books or novels, but to have to face up to the reality that people do evil things in normal, real life, all around you? It's saddening, to say the least. I hope to show Papyrus' more complex aspects in future.


	21. A new normal for the kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Sapph (my roommate), who is the Sans to my Papyrus (it's actually a little scary how much we are like the skelebros). Sapph is the reason I actually have a clue how the skelebros would interact.
> 
> ...Seriously. Sapph pun-bombed my room. No joke. Complete with a drawing of Papyrus yelling "PAPYRUS GOODBYERUS" on our door.

_What does “Friendship Spaghetti” look like, you ask? It may or may not look like a plate of spaghetti in the shape of Papyrus’ head with meatballs for eyes and a red scarf made of spaghetti sauce… It’s pretty tasty, too. There’s also Sadness Spaghetti (to cheer you up), Congratulatory Spaghetti, Lazybones Spaghetti (this was just Papyrus’ name for spaghetti Sans left over and had to store in the fridge), and so many more._

_I’ll admit, though, that I was really happy when Papyrus learned how to make hash browns, because we were able to convince him they were a version of “breakfast spaghetti.” Too much spaghetti can get old, despite what Papyrus always says (but never tell him I said that)._

 

* * *

 

“IS IT IN THIS ROOM?”

“Mmm-hmm!”

“IS IT BLUE?”

“Nope!”

“IS IT GREEN?”

“Nope!”

“IS IT PURPLE? ORANGE?”

“Nope nope!”

“IS IT RED?”

“Mmm-hmm!”

“YES! A CLUE!” Papyrus contracted his face and concentrated. Frisk had introduced him to a game called “I Spy,” and he was determined to both show and improve his intellect by playing. He would win! Another win for the Great Papyrus!

“IS IT MY RACECAR BED?” Frisk giggled and shook their head. “PERHAPS MY COLLECTION OF PUZZLE BOOKS, ALL WITH RED BINDING?” Again, Frisk giggled and shook their head. Papyrus got down on hands and knees, trying to look at the fibers of his rug. Perhaps the tiny human meant to select one tiny fiber from the rug, and the Great Papyrus would have to find which fiber! Papyrus opened his mouth to begin asking about individual strands of string from his fire-colored rug when he found an unexpected weight upon his shoulders—it was Frisk, and they were now perched upon Papyrus’ armor.

“TINY HUMAN,” he called, “HOW CAN YOU ANSWER MY QUESTIONS ABOUT RUG FIBERS IF YOU SIT ON MY SHOULDERS? YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO SEE THEM AT ALL!”

“And neither will _you_!” cried Frisk, suddenly whipping their arms around so they blocked Papyrus’ eyesockets in a strange sort of hug.

“TINY HUMAN! I AM AFRAID THIS IS A BAD IDEA! I CANNOT SEE!” The only response Papyrus got was more giggling. Papyrus tried again: “TINY HUMAN, HOW WILL WE FINISH OUR GAME IF I CANNOT SEE?” Frisk only laughed harder, and they switched their arms around so only one arm blocked Papyrus’ vision. The other arm (very un-sneakily) began tugging at Papyrus’ beautiful red scarf. Frisk was a motivated little person, and the task was soon accomplished: Frisk waved the scarf through the air, laughing uproariously. Of course, Papyrus flailed his arms, trying to grasp his scarf, with no success.

“TINY HUMAN, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SCARF?” Papyrus gasped. “WAIT, MY SCARF IS RED… IS THAT THE ANSWER—”

“Yes!” Frisk suddenly jumped off Papyrus’ shoulders, landing neatly on Papyrus’ bed with a bounce. Papyrus looked at them, and his jaw dropped.

Frisk had wrapped the crimson scarf around their face and hair, leaving only their mischievous eyes visible. “I’m a secret agent! Nobody will know my true identity!” With that, they grabbed a bone from one of the desk drawers and started a swordfight with Papyrus, who grabbed another bone, instantly rising to the challenge.

“WHAT, TINY RUFFIAN! STEAL MY FAMOUS BATTLE-SCARF? HA! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL BEST YOU IN THIS DUEL!” Bones clacked as the human and skeleton began an epic battle, fighting around Papyrus’ bed, across the upstairs hallway, down the stairs (Papyrus simply jumped over the railing and down to the floor, where he struck a dramatic pose), through and around the living room (jumping on the couch as often as possible), into the kitchen, and eventually, out into the snow, where the bones were soon forgotten in a “SNOWBALL CAMPAIGN OF EPIC PROPORTIONS.”

Sans, meanwhile, was walking home from Snowdin. Normally, he’d teleport, but he had a few things on his mind he needed to think about: He’d visited the door to the Ruins again for the first time since Frisk ran from home (was it really almost six months since they’d kind of adopted the kid?) and talked with the lady on the other side.

“ _And my child is doing well? …I am glad._ ” She had sounded happy, but in a distant, sad sort of way. That made sense, though, considering how much she loved the kid.

“ _Me? I am as well as can be expected.”_ But Sans wasn’t fooled—she sounded tired.

“ _No, the king has not discovered evidence of the child._ ” Well, that was a mercy. (Heh. Irony.)

“ _Please do not tell the child that you have spoken to me. I wish for them to remember me as I was the day they left. I do not want them to know I am… lonely._ ” Sans had acquiesced and begun walking home.

He felt it was his responsibility to act as secret middleman between the lady and the kid. Yes, it was sad to hear his friend’s voice was now subdued and sad (though her voice strengthened at tales of Frisk’s antics around the skelebro house), but she deserved to know her sacrifice had accomplished the kid’s safety. She deserved to know the kid was able to be happy again, even in bad circumstances.

She deserved to know her kid had a family again.

Sans saw his house come into view and picked up his pace. The thought of vegging out to a dumb Mettaton movie was so appealing that he failed to notice the two snow-forts (and their occupants) in his yard.

As he took out his keys to unlock the door, Sans received a snowball to the back of the head from Papyrus, and one straight into his left eyesocket from Frisk.

Papyrus’ and Frisk’s whoops of triumph abruptly cut off as Sans turned to face them, left eye glowing with a cyan light, snow melting out of his eyesocket as it came in contact with the skeleton’s magic.

“Ooh,” said Sans from behind a broad grin, “you’re gonna regret that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a small edit to this chapter after posting it: Originally, this took place two months after Frisk had to leave Toriel. I'm changing it so this takes place closer to six months after they left.


	22. Even the happiest of days may hide sadness in the shadows

_The family that I formed with the skelebros was different than the one I had with Toriel. While Toriel shielded me from even knowing I could be in danger, Sans and Papyrus openly worked to protect me from danger. There was no beating around the bush: There were monsters that would hurt me, and they told me to my face that they wished to protect me. They knew they couldn’t restore my trust in the whole world—I’d lost that the day I had to leave mom—so they simply worked to build up my trust in them._

 

* * *

 

Frisk and Papyrus were fully unprepared for the barrage of snowballs (each propelled by a little tail of cyan magic) that Sans sent after them. Though they each tried to throw snowballs at the short skeleton (Papyrus loudly yelling that using magic was cheating), both Frisk and Papyrus soon gave up on that and began trying to dodge Sans’ snowballs with varying degrees of success. (For a kid, Frisk was pretty quick!)

After receiving yet another snowball to their head, Frisk’s adrenaline kicked in, and they took a wild leap over the wall of their fort, then beelined for Papyrus, hiding from Sans’ snowballs behind the taller skeleton.

Sans grinned. Both targets in one place? Easy.

Sans sent a snowball whistling at Frisk’s face, who dodged it at the last second. There was a loud yelp from Papyrus, whose cheeks flushed bright orange, and Frisk just about fell over laughing. Papyrus clamped his gloved hands around his non-existent backside, and Sans realized he’d accidentally pegged his brother in the butt with a snowball.

“SAAAAANS!” Papyrus sounded mortified.

Sans just grinned wider. (Yep, the kid _was_ lying in the snow, unable to move for laughing).

“What’s the matter, bro?” called Sans. “Your _cheeks_ are all _flushed_.”

“SANS, FOR THE LOVE OF—” he sputtered, still thoroughly embarrassed. “WERE YOU AIMING FOR  _THERE_?”

“Nah,” said Sans. “Happy chance, I guess.”

“SANS! THIS IS NOT AMUSING!”

“Really? ‘cause the kid’s _cracking_ up.”

“OH MY GOD, SANS! DO YOU HAVE NO SHAME?”

“Nah, I left it all _behind_ me.” Sans showed off his pearly whites in a massive grin.

Papyrus yelled in frustration, and Frisk (who had tried to sit up, holding their aching sides) promptly flopped back into the snow. “Sans,” wheezed Frisk, “I can’t… breathe…”

“Yeah, my puns are a _gas_ , aren’t they?”

“PLEASE, SANS, NOT WHEN I’VE BEEN SO HUMILIATED…” Papyrus sounded sad and a little pathetic, now, and Sans softened a bit.

“Alright, alright.” He walked over to Frisk and pulled them upright out of the snow, brushing his bony fingers through their hair to get rid of accumulated snow. “Let’s go inside.” Sans gallantly opened the front door for his brother and Frisk, elegantly waving them inside.

“THANK YOU! I FEEL SO RELIEVED!”

Sans snorted loudly, leaning backwards into the doorframe (so much for fake elegance). Frisk snickered, too. Papyrus frowned.

“WHAT IS SO FUNNY?”

“Think about your word choice just now, bro.” Sans’ snorts gave way to guffawing. Realizing the blunder he’d made, Papyrus flushed orange again and stomped up to his room to change out of his snow-soaked clothing. Sans turned to Frisk and winked.

“Yup, no _butts_ about it: Paps is never going to live this one down.”

Frisk giggled, stomping snow off their boots, then Sans sent them upstairs to find dry clothes. In a few minutes, they returned with Papyrus, both wearing onesie pajamas (black with white and blue bones on them) and fluffy socks. Both human and skeleton hid their hands behind their backs, smiling mischievously.

“Sans!” cried Frisk. “Put these on!” Frisk held out a pair of fluffy socks, and Papyrus held out a set of onesie pajamas (the same bones pattern) for Sans.

Damn the kid and his brother for their cute puppy-dog eyes! Sans couldn’t say no when they both were so excited to have him join in on their little sleepover. With a grunt, he stood up, reaching out with bony hands to grab the offered sleepwear. Frisk and Papyrus whooped with excitement, immediately chattering about what Mettaton special to watch.

The movie night was a resounding success. Frisk sat on the couch with a skelebro on either side, happy as a clam. Per Frisk’s insistence, marshmallows were added to everyone’s hot chocolate (Papyrus on a sugar high was pretty hilarious), and they’d watched a Mettaton movie following the exploits of Agent M (or, as Sans called him, “Agent Calculator”). The movie featured everything from robotic love interests to high-stakes kitchen warfare (AKA food fights). All in all, a bunch of fun.

Shortly after Papyrus fell asleep, though, Sans heard Frisk softly sniff as if they were crying. Sans reached over to give them a hug, running his bony fingers through their hair.

“Hey, kiddo,” he murmured. “What’s up?”

“I’m…” sniffled Frisk. “I just think… that Mom would have… liked being here.” Their body shook as they tried to cry quietly. “I’m sorry… I just—“

“Shhh, kiddo,” hushed Sans gently. “You’ve been really brave through all this. I wish I could bring your mom here, I really do…” Sans let his voice drop, not wanting to detail exactly why he couldn’t do just that.

“I _miss_ her, Sans…” Frisk was giving Sans the tightest hug they possibly could.

“I know you do, kiddo.” He held Frisk’s face in his hands so they would look in his eyesockets. “Paps and I won’t try to replace your mom ‘cause we just can’t. But we care about you and will do our best to help you be happy. I think your mom would want that.” Frisk nodded through watery eyes and resumed hugging Sans.

The couch soon boasted three snoring figures in onesie pajamas and fuzzy socks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried, but I couldn't resist the butt puns...
> 
> Also, next update won't be for a little while. I have some plot issues I need to solidify before I can write more, so thanks for your patience and I'll try to have the next chapters up in a week or so!


	23. In which Frisk regrets disobeying Sans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks! I'm taking a summer course through my college (because graduating on time is a good thing!), and I also had to spend some time making sure I knew where the story should go at this point.
> 
> But good news! I know how the story needs to develop, now, and the only thing that will delay new chapters is schoolwork. I'm still hoping to update every week if I can.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this new aspect of the story! :)

_I didn’t know what dreams were before I lived with the skelebros. I also didn’t know what a nightmare was, and I certainly didn’t know what a Soul was! I soon discovered, though, that somehow, the bond I’d made with Toriel was so strong that I was connected to her even from a distance._

 

* * *

 

After Sans confirmed Asgore had definitively returned to the Capitol, he and Papyrus had resolved to make life a little more regular for Frisk. They took turns teaching: Papyrus teaching handwriting, language arts, chemistry (“DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN SPELL ‘PAPYRUS’ IN ELEMENT SYMBOLS?!”), manners/etiquette, and, of course, cooking. Sans took on the more abstract subjects, such as physics, higher mathematics, psychology, and philosophy. Though Frisk was only nine when Sans and Papyrus took over their education, they quickly learned the different subjects they were taught.

Whenever Sans visited his friend behind the door, she was always overjoyed to hear what Frisk was learning: She laughed in wonder when she heard Sans describe Frisk’s awe at the description of light as a particle, giggled as she heard about spaghetti noodles stuck to the ceiling during cooking lessons, and cried when she heard Frisk wanted to knit sweaters like the one she’d given them. (Papyrus could tell knitting meant a lot to Frisk, so he had borrowed a book from the Librarby all about the subject, studied it tirelessly, and then given Frisk all the supplies they needed for the task, along with promises of “THE BEST OF KNITTING HELP FOR THE COOLEST LITTLE HUMAN!”) For all the strangeness of the skelebro house, it was clear Sans and Papyrus were absolutely dedicated to giving Frisk every opportunity to learn and have a good rest of their childhood.

There was a slight hiccup in the newly-established routine about a year into Frisk’s stay with the skelebros. Frisk had been given permission to roam around the populated areas of Snowdin since most of the inhabitants either didn’t care that Asgore was looking for humans or they didn’t know what a human looked like. Either way, Frisk had some autonomy in the little town, and they were thrilled.

One day, though, after a little spat with Sans over whether they could walk back toward the Ruins, Frisk had disobeyed instructions. Shivering in the cold, they stubbornly walked toward the Ruins, away from the town, ignoring the echoes of Sans’ admonishments that silently rang through their head.

After about a half hour’s walk toward the Ruins, Frisk stopped walking abruptly: Something was glinting golden in the snow, just off the path. Curiosity surging, Frisk ran to the spot, only to find no trace of whatever it was they had seen. Disappointed, Frisk turned and walked back to the main path.

Well, they tried to, at least.

They willed their feet to move, but nothing happened. A wave of panic rising in them, they looked up to see something floating in front of them:

A glowing heart, pulsing with a steady, crimson light. Somehow, just by looking at it, they knew it was _theirs_ , that it was fragile, that it shouldn’t be out in the open like that! Someone might see it!

…someone _had_ seen it. A little creature with a ridiculous hat and wide, unblinking eyes was staring at Frisk.

Through a slightly constricted throat, Frisk let out a, “Good afternoon! What’s your name—“

“Your head looks so… NAKED!” shrieked the creature, so loud that Frisk covered their ears.

“I like your hat! It’s really cool,” smiled Frisk, remembering Papyrus’ etiquette lessons: Always better to compliment people who aren’t being nice, because they may have just had a bad day.

“DUH! Who DOESN’T know??!!” Frisk covered their ears again but quickly gasped as a searing pain tore through their chest. The world looked a little blurry, and it took a moment for Frisk to realize there were tears streaming out of their eyes.

“What did you do?” cried Frisk. Looking up, they saw that the glowing heart— _their_ heart—had a jagged piece of ice lodged in it. What looked like a droplet from the heart (whatever it was made of) slowly fell to the snow in a small red sphere. The ice in the heart seemed to melt as it contacted the vibrant red material.

By the time the piece of ice melted out of Frisk’s heart completely, seven small red drops had fallen to the snow. As each one disengaged from the growing mass, Frisk felt themselves grow slightly weaker, and the pain in their chest increased.

“I just looooove my hat, OK? Get over it!” The voice was back, but Frisk was so shocked by the fact that their weird, glowing heart looked like it was _melting_ that they just stared at the ground, now pockmarked by seven little drops of glowing red.

“HELLO??? My hat’s up here!” Frisk looked up in time to see a bizarre ice obstacle course zoom toward their heart, and they frantically tried to move it out of the way, with no success. Another shard of ice stabbed their heart, and Frisk again felt pain as another drop of blood-red fell from their floating heart.

Frisk was panicked. There was nobody there to help! Sans had warned them about going off alone, and maybe this was why—

 _Sans._ Frisk frantically scrabbled for their cell phone, typed in the wrong number, typed in the correct number, and was soon connected to the chill skeleton’s voice.

“Hey, kiddo. ‘sup?”

“Help, please!” sobbed Frisk into the receiver. “I went where you said not to, and there’s ice in my heart, and why is my heart not in me, and why won’t he leave me alone? I can’t run, Sans, I can’t run!” Another drop fell from their heart. Frisk saw more ice fragments gathering, preparing for another strike.

“SANS I CAN’T RUN AND I THINK I’M GOING TO DIE!”

“Stay there! I’m coming!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I think Ice Cap deals 7 damage per attack. Please correct me if you know otherwise!
> 
> Also, I made a slight edit before the Ice Cap fight.


	24. 3 HP

_I still don’t know how it was possible! A bond between Souls is only supposed to be between monsters; it’s rare (if not unheard of) for it to happen between a monster and human. Maybe Mom did it so she could sense if I was in danger, even if she wasn’t physically near me? Hell, I don’t know if she meant to make the bond at all; it could have been an accident._

 

* * *

 

As he briskly patrolled through Snowdin Town, Papyrus found himself thinking, once again, of the human child he and Sans had adopted. Remembering his initial desire to turn them in, Papyrus quietly chuckled and let his ever-present smile widen.

The human. So small, and yet their accomplishments were incredible!

Their presence inspired Sans, _Sans_ , to be _diligent_ about his job as a sentry! (Well, perhaps diligent was the wrong word… At the very least, Sans bothered to show up somewhat regularly to his job, now.)

They learned all about Papyrus’ puzzles with enthusiasm, never telling him they were boring (like Undyne) or trying to put him in a headlock to give him a noogie (again, like Undyne).

They got along with the monsters in Snowdin as if they’d been born in the Underground (with the help of Papyrus’ etiquette lessons, naturally. Papyrus couldn’t let them go around laughing hysterically at the eccentric-looking monsters, after all.)

There was something about this human—something Papyrus greatly admired but couldn’t quite give a name to… A refusal to quit? An insatiable desire to achieve? Papyrus absentmindedly straightened his scarf, nodding a brief hello to the bunny lady who walked her little brother on a leash. “I MUST RESEARCH WHY THIS ONE IS SPECIAL!” declared Papyrus to nobody in particular. A few monsters smiled at the heroic pose he struck before walking quickly toward the Librarby.

He had just shut the Librarby door behind him when his cell phone rang. It was an annoying recording of Sans saying things like, “Ring, ring, ring,” and “Of course this counts as a ringtone!” Papyrus had never figured out how to change it to something more _respectable_ , so he hastily scrambled out of the Librarby into the cold, gritting his teeth at the embarrassment of being loud in a library.

The front of his phone read “SANS.” Papyrus flipped it open in annoyance.

“BROTHER, PLEASE DO NOT CALL ME WHEN I AM IN THE LIBRARBY! IT IS MOST EMBARRASSING. AND I WOULD LIKE TO CHANGE THAT INFERNAL ‘RINGTONE’ YOU MADE—“

“Paps, shut up! Get home now!”

_Click._

Papyrus stood there in shock. Sans _never_ spoke harshly to him! Well, not unless it was an emergency—

A prickle of fear wormed its way into Papyrus’ soul. The human was in danger; Sans had told him this from day one.

_PLEASE, NOT THE HUMAN…!_

He ran through town as fast as he could, ignoring the stares of Snowdin monsters, and burst through the door to see Sans pacing nervously in circles in the living room.

“SANS,” began Papyrus, “WHERE IS THE HUMAN? WHAT IS GOING ON? WHAT—“

“Shhh,” said Sans. “They’re in your bed. Paps, I—I’m not too good at healing magic… I don’t know what to do for them…”

Papyrus raced upstairs to his room and saw a sight that almost broke his heart: The human lay in the racecar bed, looking very pale. Papyrus shut his eyes, searching for their Soul with a spark of his own.

 _3\. 3 HP._ Papyrus stared aghast back at Sans, who had appeared in the doorway. _“HOW?”_ mouthed Papyrus silently, to which Sans gave no response but an angry surge of magic in his frame.

 _“Later,”_ mouthed Sans. _“Help them first.”_ Papyrus turned to Frisk, who tried to sit up.

“HUMAN,” Papyrus said quietly, sitting on the bed beside them and holding their hand. “HOW DO YOU FEEL?”

Before Frisk could reply, a wave of nausea rushed through them and they retched into a small bucket Sans had placed by the bed.

“SANS, PLEASE GRAB MY FIRST-AID KIT.” Sans rushed downstairs and Papyrus rubbed Frisk’s back until they were done being sick. Papyrus then gently carried them to the bathroom and helped them wash their face and put on clean clothes before taking them back to the racecar bed.

“HUMAN, YOU ARE HURT VERY BADLY. I AM SORRY IF THAT IS SCARY TO HEAR, BUT IT IS THE TRUTH.” Frisk just sat huddled in blankets, looking miserable.

Sans and Papyrus exchanged a look— _Don’t ask them about it now,_ they both seemed to say. Papyrus cleared his throat and faced Frisk again.

“TO… TO ASSESS THE DAMAGE TO YOUR SOUL, I WILL HAVE TO ASK PERMISSION TO DRAW IT OUT OF YOU AGAIN. IT IS AN UNCOMFORTABLE, VULNERABLE FEELING TO LET OTHERS SEE IT, BUT I MUST DO IT TO KNOW HOW TO HELP YOU HEAL.” Papyrus half-smiled sadly.

“Sure,” said Frisk, hesitantly. “Wait…My Soul? What’s—“ Frisk inhaled sharply as they saw their crimson heart emerge from their chest.

“DON’T LOOK AT IT! THAT’S MINE! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT…“ Sans gently hugged Frisk, hushing their frantic words. Papyrus looked ready to cry at the sight of the small red Soul:

The small red Soul with three gaping holes in it, its pulsing light irregular and weak. Papyrus gently willed the heart to rotate so he could study it at every angle. A few minutes later, he carefully pushed the Soul back inside Frisk.

“SANS?” said Papyrus, “GIVE THE HUMAN A MONSTER CANDY AND KEEP THEM COMPANY. I’M GOING TO SEE GERSON.”

“I’ll walk you to the door, bro.”

The brothers walked to the door in silence.

“SANS?”

“Yeah, bro?”

“WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CREATURE THAT HARMED THE HUMAN?”

Papyrus felt Sans’ magic spike again. Sans grinned without humor. 

“An Ice Cap. I gave it a bad time.”

“FOR THE LOVE OF….! SANS, YOU DIDN’T _KILL_ IT, DID YOU?”

“No, of course not! I just… left a few holes in its dumb-ass hat is all.”

“SANS…” Papyrus groaned. “YOU NEED ETIQUETTE LESSONS JUST LIKE THE HUMAN, I SWEAR…”

“Go get your medical supplies, Paps.”

“YEAH, YEAH…”


	25. Tea and recovery

_I think Sans suspected I had some sort of bond with Mom while I was recovering from my fight with the Ice Cap. I was up on my feet, slowly walking around the house (and eating a ton of food, which was marvelous) when I was whisked away to Papyrus’ room and told to stay there and avoid windows at all costs. I didn’t have enough energy to talk back, so I just fell asleep in Papyrus’ bed, and I dreamed for the first time._

 

* * *

 

“So now you get to spend extra time with Uncle Sansy, OK?”

Frisk, still in bed recovering from their battle with the Ice Cap, nodded moodily. Sans had read them the riot act about following instructions, staying where it was safe, yadda yadda yah.

What Frisk _hadn’t_ expected was for Sans and Papyrus to tell them that they needed to be taught how to fight.

“I’ll teach ya how to find their weaknesses,” Sans had said, tapping his forehead knowingly.

“I SHALL TEACH YOU HOW TO MAXIMIZE YOUR, UM, FORMIDDABLE STRENGTH!” Papyrus had said, somehow managing to flex biceps he didn’t have. “BUT FIRST, YOU MUST BE IN FIT ENOUGH CONDITION TO BE UP AND MOVING!” Brandishing a mug of steaming… _something_ that looked and smelled salty and gross to Frisk (who promptly gagged as the smell came closer), Papyrus struck a grand pose, expectantly grinning up at the ceiling until Frisk was done drinking the contents of the mug. About fifteen seconds later, Papyrus realized Frisk had not taken the mug at all and that their face looked a little greenish.

“HUMAN, THIS IS SEA TEA FROM THE HONORABLE GERSON, A RETIRED SOLDIER IN THE KING’S ARMY!” declared Papyrus, a confused look on his face. “WHY WON’T YOU DRINK THIS? IT WILL HELP YOUR SOUL HEAL FASTER THAN REST ALONE.”

Plugging their nose with one hand, Frisk tried valiantly to drink the “tea” (it tasted like salt and seaweed, with an overall grainy texture like sand), managing to swallow just a small amount. Tears streaming out of their eyes, Frisk croaked, “Water!” and pushed the mug as far away from them as possible. Both skelebros jumped up to get the required glass and fill it, and Frisk chugged the whole thing as soon as the water glass was offered.

“Kid, you OK?” asked Sans, wiping Frisk’s face with a small towel.

“IS THE TEA ACCEPTABLE? IT IS THE FINEST TO BE FOUND IN THE UNDERGROUND!”

“It’s awful,” coughed Frisk. “It smells terrible and is really salty, and I think it has sand in it.”

“IT SMELLS BAD?” Papyrus looked perplexed. “I DID NOT SMELL ANYTHING BAD! BROTHER, DID YOU SMELL ANYTHING?”

Sans’ browbones shot up. “Paps,” he said, “you know how we can choose to taste food, even though we’re, well, skeletons?”

“Skelebros…” muttered Frisk, loud enough for Papyrus to hear.

“HOW MANY TIMES MUST I TELL YOU, HUMAN, THAT ‘SKELEBROS’ IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE TITLE FOR ONE SUCH AS MYSELF! FOR I AM, INDEED, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, FUTURE FAMOUS ROYAL GUARD—“

“’Papyrus, the Royal Skelebro,’” said Sans with a smirk. “That has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think, kiddo?”

“SANS!” Papyrus was not pleased with this turn of conversation. “PERHAPS THE TERM ‘SKELEBRO’ MAY APPLY TO YOU, SINCE YOU ARE LAZY AND UNREFINED, BUT I AM SIMPLY TOO GREAT FOR SUCH A, A _CASUAL_ NAME LIKE THAT!”

 “Sure, bro.”

“I AM TOO GREAT TO BE BROUGHT LOW BY SUCH A NAME!”

“Mmm-hmm, bro.”

“SANS, WHY DO I GET THE FEELING YOU’RE JUST SAYING VAGUE THINGS TO PLACATE ME?”

“I’m sure that’s so, Paps.”

“SANS! YOU’RE NOT EVEN LISTENING! GET THAT IDIOTIC GRIN OFF YOUR FACE AND—“

Papyrus cut off mid-sentence to dive with lightning-fast reflexes toward Frisk, who had grabbed the mug of Sea Tea and was beelining for the bathroom.

“HUMAN!” Papyrus was scowling as he held Frisk in one arm and the tea in his free hand. “WERE YOU GOING TO GET RID OF THAT TEA?”

Frisk nodded moodily, trying to squirm away from the noxious fumes.

“ARE YOU AWARE OF HOW MUCH TROUBLE IT WAS TO GET THIS TEA?”

Frisk shook their head, trying to breathe in untainted air from the rest of the room (and failing).

“PEOPLE GET SUSPICIOUS IF YOU BUY SEA TEA FOR NO GOOD REASON! THE ONLY REASON TO GET IT IS TO HEAL A SOUL FAST, WHICH IMPLIES AN EMERGENCY, AND CLEARLY I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WOULD NEVER BE IN NEED OF SUCH MEDICINE SINCE I HAVE THE BEST FIGHTING REFLEXES EVER! THE OBVIOUS CONCLUSION WOULD BE THAT SANS WAS HURT, AND THAT WOULD HAVE BROUGHT MANY MONSTERS HERE TO CHECK ON HIM, AND YOU COULD HAVE BEEN FOUND!”

Frisk coughed miserably, face turning green again as they inhaled more Sea Tea steam.

“I HAD TO CONVINCE GERSON I WAS TRYING TO REPLENISH MY FIRST AID KIT SO AS TO AVOID SUSPICION! I HAD TO BUY OTHER THINGS FROM HIS STORE TO AVERT SUSPICION. JUST LOOK AT THESE GLASSES! THEY ARE DREADFULLY DIRTY, BUT I HAD TO PRETEND I THOUGHT THEY WERE COOL ENOUGH TO BUY, AND THEN I HAD TO BUY THEM! I—“

“Hold up, Paps,” said Sans, stopping Papyrus from putting on the glasses he’d bought. “Paps, let me see the mug.” Papyrus handed the mug to Sans, who carefully lowered his face over the mug and inhaled (without lungs, naturally. How was that a thing?) “Ooh!” Sans’ pupils shrunk to a pinpoint size.

“SANS, WHAT…”

“Paps, you know we can taste food when we want to but don’t have to?”

“IS THIS ANOTHER PLOY TO CALL ME A ‘SKELEBRO’? BECAUSE IF SO, YOU HAVEN’T FOOLED ME!”

“No, Paps, this isn’t an excuse to call you a skelebro. You know how we can smell food when we want to?”

“YES.”

“Have you tried smelling anything in a while?”

“NOT SINCE I MADE SPAGHETTI LAST NIGHT! IT SMELLED STUPENDOUS!”

“Smell this,” said Sans, holding the mug out to his brother.

Papyrus frowned. “WHY WOULD I WANT TO SMELL SOMETHING THAT ISN’T SPAGHETTI?”

“Oh for the love of—Paps, just smell the tea!”

“THIS IS A WASTE OF TIME, BUT I SHALL DO THIS FOR YOU, BROTHER.” Papyrus sent a disdainful look at his brother, then deeply inhaled the scent of the Sea Tea.

“AUGH!” yelled Papyrus, nearly dropping the mug. “THIS SMELLS HORRENDOUS!” In a moment where you could practically see the lightbulb above Papyrus’ head turn on, he turned to Frisk and then Sans. “HUMANS CANNOT CHOOSE TO NOT TASTE AND SMELL, CAN THEY?”

“Correct, Paps.”

“SO THE HUMAN HAS BEEN SMELLING AND TASTING _THIS_ THE WHOLE TIME?”

“Yup.”

Papyrus became at once frustrated and remorseful. “WHAT SHALL I DO? THE TEA WILL HELP THE HUMAN, BUT EVEN I SEE IT IS VILE!” Turning to Frisk, he said sorrowfully, “HUMAN, I AM SORRY, BUT YOU MUST DRINK THIS TEA. IT WILL HELP YOU RECOVER!” Frisk recoiled in horror. “PLEASE? WE WANT YOU TO FEEL BETTER.”

Frisk frowned, but knew from Sans and Papyrus’ sympathetic (but uncompromising) expressions that there was no way to avoid drinking the foul concoction. “Fine,” they mumbled, “but you owe me Nice Cream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly fluff, but within the next few chapters, I'll finally get around to a few plot points I've been planning for a while. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


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